#she was trying to drink from the frozen bird bath i think

[pnwander]

oh hi there

[turtle-steverogers]

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

-

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

-

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

-

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

-

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

-

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

-

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

-

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

-

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

-

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

[omgkalyppso]

The Unforgotten King

A Dimimari drabble that fits into Fae's post canon.

The icy winds pouring down from the frigid Fraldarian mountains were starting to upset the horses with how cold they were. Many roads this far north were impassable for carriages; even the main roads, which in many cases were the only option, were made to constrict the approach of enemies and allies alike, venturing to and from the historically chaotic northern border, and the capital to the south.

They had come first by boat and then followed the trade routes carved out by the fishing villages on the eastern coast.

Marianne held her scarf against the chill, wincing and shaking her head about Dimitri, with his scarf pulled down around his smile as he spoke about his homeland. He'd long ago let his hat fall back around his shoulders, secured by a cord about his neck, and his bound hair was a tangle as a result of the gales. He was going home, and it was as clear in his person as it was in his temperament. His nose and cheeks were pink and frozen, and his beard was gelid with frost, but the Faerghan climate suited him. Marianne even suspected that the temperature might have been harsh on another man's injuries, but Dimitri was only livelier by the mile.

Some might have said he was as a boy gone to the fair, but she knew him too well now, and could see the flit of his eye as he watched the forests. He was fighting his hauntings and his memories of war, and trusting her and their guard with his insecurities. A vast improvement when compared to the dreary state of his heart and mind during the year or two past.

Marianne had worried that despite Dimitri's growth, that returning to Faerghus was going to upset him and his friends, when he and they found him without the crown, without the armour and attire one expected of a king, and with the continued trauma of never having achieved his vengeance. She was overjoyed that it was nothing so simple.

.

"Do you see how the trees have turned from green to blue here?" Dimitri asked, gesturing to the evergreens, brightening as Marianne nodded. "They say the Goddess took pity on the verdant evergreens of Fodlan after her first ice storm, and blessed all the trees north of Conand River with a piece of her home on the Blue Sea Star, that they might from then on weather the storms."

Marianne held her scarf from her face as she replied, "They're quite beautiful. I hear they house wildlife too? I would have expected we'd only find migratory birds out in these temperatures."

"It would be wonderful to hear an owl at night," Dimitri mused. "You are right, though. There are a variety of creatures in the underbrush."

"As stubborn as any Faerghan," Marianne joked. "Although I suspect, in regards to your tale of a blessing, that similar accounts are told of the seas themselves, rather than only of Faerghan forests. Anything blue."

Dimitri had blushed and laughed awkwardly at Marianne's initial declaration, knowing that it was true that sailors in Faerghus were revered and worried perhaps even that he had misremembered his own short yarn, but then he'd smiled and contributed softly, "It is a color dear to my heart."

"Because of your house banner?" Marianne asked as if to confirm, offering Dimitri no space to argue. "Perhaps a square or kerchief could be sewn in one of your pillows? Or some other secret space? I am sorry that you're only clad as one of my guards."

Dimitri shook his head. "An honor. I am glad to ride beside you, Mari— my lady, and ... maybe with the right materials, I could try to award myself with the gift you suggest. It would be a small and challenging project for a man of my extremely limited skill."

.

Upon their arrival at the manor in Fraldarius, they were escorted to the entrance hall, where Dimitri embarrassed Rodrigue with a bow and an embrace.

"Dimitri," Rodrigue said softly, as a reprimand and a prayer, testing the name, free of title and ornamentation. "It is good to see you again. If Felix had not seen you himself, I would have assumed a ruse or extortion." He pulled away, a hand still on his once and fallen king's shoulder. "To bury you, would be as burying another son—"

"Rodrigue—" Dimitri said, meaning to interrupt.

"Humor me," he begged. "Hear me. Not only am I proud to host you, in secret, in public, but should you ever need a home in Faerghus, we will never turn you away." Rodrigue swept a tear from his eyes, "Hm. I think you'll find my lack of decorum is your fault, for hugging me first—"

"My sincerest—"

Rodrigue chuckled. "Don't apologize. Just know that I intended to be more reserved, for the sake of Lady Marianne, if not for that of my son."

"Where is Felix?" asked Dimitri, as a door to the entrance hall opened at the top of a far stair, and Felix, Annette, Sylvain and Ingrid rushed out of it.

Although Felix had been to visit him in Margrave Edmund's territory three times, Dimitri could not suppress his joy at his friend's reveal, and after Rodrigue's admission, he could either hope that Felix too thought of him more fondly, or else worry that he needed to apologize to the younger Fraldarius for what he'd inspired in his father. "Felix!"

Dimitri spared a glance for Marianne, who waved him off delicately so that he could rush to his friends at the base of the stair. She shared a far more respectable greeting with Duke Fraldarius.

.

"Wait—!" Felix started to object, but too late or with too little conviction to keep Dimitri from fitting his arms around him and Ingrid and squeezing them to his chest.

Ingrid laughed happily, and Felix scoffed when Sylvain was greeted with only a joined hand and a clap on the shoulder, though Annette then jumped into Dimitri's arms.

"I half worried it was an exaggeration," Dimitri said softly. "That you all could make it."

"Mercedes and Dedue's boat is expected tomorrow," Sylvain said to assure him.

"Ashe won't be here for a week," Annette lamented as her feet hit the floor, "but I hear that will be long enough to see you?"

"I won't leave before," Dimitri promised. "It would break my heart if his journey from Gaspard was fruitless."

"Did you know that he needed to wait for Linhardt to take up residence in Gaspard?" asked Ingrid. "To deter the Adrestians from overreaching — even now."

"As well as general rebellion," Felix supplied. "Things aren't exactly settled that far west."

"You're helping him?" Dimitri confirmed, and a part of his heart stirred to be able to have this conversation with Felix in person, rather than over a period of days by letter.

"Fhirdiad's helping him," Felix said and then frowned when the others around Dimitri looked at him more directly, and corrected himself. "Yes, I'm helping him."

Fhirdiad had been Felix's home and his charge these past few years. He had taken up the title of Archduke and wielded his role with purpose. He always intended to return to Fraldarius, imagining that there would be an opportunity to suggest another lord be honoured with the capital region, but some days he worried he had sealed his fate. His father, and Sylvain, were less subtle in their matching inquiries about his return, but it seemed all others were slowly becoming accustomed to him sitting in that place of kings in the more temperate south.

"I appreciate it," Dimitri said carefully.

"There'll be plenty of time to worry about the shadow of dissent tomorrow," Sylvain said, looking to change the subject. "What are you wearing?"

"Oh," Dimitri said in surprise, looking down at himself, dressed as a Leicester soldier in wool and armour.

"Are you warm enough?" asked Annette, turning over a side of his cloak to assess its thickness.

Dimitri chuckled. "I'm plenty warm, I—"

"How many layers is that?" Ingrid inquired critically.

"Do the rest of Marianne's escorts have hats like this?" asked Sylvain, propping Dimitri's upon his golden hair.

"Four. No, most have wool lined leather caps."

"Four? Like this? That's not enough," Ingrid worried.

"We'll warm him with drink and games," Sylvain suggested. "Maybe dancing if Annette feels like singing?"

Annette squeaked in protest, but Felix spoke first.

"You're being ridiculous. Dimitri's had a long ride—"

Dimitri's lips tightened to hear Felix call him by name, and he spoke gently, worried he might break this simple spell of friendship when he spoke in favour of Sylvain's suggestions, "I think it would be nice to drink with everyone, but I might like to bathe first. I fear as soon as I loosen my collar my sweat will thaw from where it's frozen upon me."

Three exaggerated tongues of disgust extended in sympathy.

"Do you want to stay inside?" asked Felix. "Wood fires can heat baths in the lower levels."

"Oh, no, lets show Marianne the hot springs," Annette said, as if pleading with Dimitri, though he would have agreed without any provocation.

"I would like that," he agreed, looking at Felix for permission.

With an expression of vague annoyance, Felix nodded, and then he and Dimitri each glanced to where Marianne continued her conversation with Rodrigue.

.

There was a social element to the hot springs that Marianne feared, but Sylvain made a joke that set her at ease, and challenged her to try the new experience.

Dimitri half expected Felix to return home after dutifully guiding their group to their destination, and thanked him for his continued company and conversation, such as it was, while they sat together in the steaming water. Sylvain was kind and assertive, inspecting Dimitri's right side as he stretched his arm and took advantage of the heat, to massage strong fingers into his shoulder.

Elsewhere, Ingrid and Annette had Marianne giggling as the trio raced from the spring to the snow and back again each time they grew over-red from being boiled together.

Later, they drank and reminisced, and Ingrid pulled Dimitri aside, to reaffirm that she would have been his knight and protector ... and that she still would, if he wanted to pursue his place in Fhirdiad. She saw no reason to defer to the law in Garreg Mach when Faerghus could still have its own king, and if not that, then at least he could be recognized, as the rest of them were, within Fodlan's nobility.

The shock that overtook Dimitri frightened her, when she had only meant to offer him his ancestral home, and the respect many had died to get him.

Sylvain and Felix were in listening distance, and Ingrid had known that; the four of them looked to Marianne, weaving Annette's hair in a five strand braid, while they spoke of seals and bears and other creatures that plagued the harbours.

Felix hissed about how Ingrid would throw them from one war into another, reminding her that Dimitri was hidden away precisely to avoid what she was suggesting: that there would be people willing to die for their rightful king to reclaim his place in Fhirdiad.

Everything would change if Dimitri returned, and they'd lose the trust of the Adrestians, especially Ferdinand, when they had already been caught in another lie.

"You can't come back," Felix said to finish his argument. Aggressive, nervous, cruel.

"Dimitri should be given a choice now that he's recovered," Ingrid said, firm.

"He's recovering," Sylvain insisted.

With a great expression of self control, Dimitri maintained his volume as he declared for his friends' forgotten benefit, "I am right here." He waited for the shame to silence them before he went on. "And things are not ... how I envisioned them — how I wanted them? My mind and upbringing feel ... wasteful, at times; and yet I have been consulted," he sighed, "on strategy and trade, customs and etiquette — by Felix and Marianne both. My input is heard in Faerghus and Leicester, and if I willed it, I am sure that Garreg Mach is within my reach ... even Almyra."

Sylvain raised his tankard in salute as he walked away then, seeing that a fight wasn't about to break out, and that Dimitri had their conversation well in hand. He complimented Annette's hair, and strove to further distract the ladies from the dark turn of that other corner of the room.

"If Faerghus was threatened, I would find my way back here, lance in hand. But I trust the peace that's been building. And the crown, as it was, only invited duplicity and massacres. Faerghus will thrive without me." With one arm he embraced Ingrid, pressing a kiss to her temple. "And Sylvain is right, I have been recovering. I would not risk all of Faerghus' progress, all of your work," his eyes drifted to Felix for a moment, "because I could not accept the truth of what a minister said. I still struggle. I am more comfortable with smaller challenges ... and I would appreciate your reassurance of our friendship as I am."

"Of course, Mitya," Ingrid insisted.

"Thank you."

"I miss you," Ingrid clarified. "I miss... The lives I thought I'd have by now."

"Change is painful," Felix agreed, sharp and forgiving.

"Yours is a life worth celebrating," Dimitri promised. He drank at the same time as his old friends, and then fumbled after, worried about sounding too much like his healers, but still he added, "Take time to recognize success."

Their quiet conversation was interrupted by Marianne and Annette hollering with laughter, and Dimitri could not even imagine Marianne's disappointment in him if in returning to Fhirdiad he brought a new conflict to her doorstep. He could not imagine his own heartbreak if their peoples ever returned to bloodshed. Sadly, he had imagined his horror with the possibility of witnessing another day like the tragedy, his blue love desecrated, their hypothetical children screaming, and him again, a lone survivor.

He would not speak of this in casual conversation with his friends, though perhaps in private with Marianne at some later time.

He was grateful for his anonymity.

.

It was late in the night when they made for bed, and Marianne was as drunk as he, and Dimitri worried between her state and their locale that he shouldn't have followed behind the door of her rooms. They had lain together a handful of times, but not for weeks now, yet she pressed him against the door like it was a casual thing, delicate fingers curving over his hips.

They leaned close as if they might kiss, and then she turned her face away from him with a sigh.

"I hope I haven't made a fool of myself. Did you have a good night, Mitya?"

"Beloved," Dimitri beckoned, curving a large hand around the side of her face, his scarred fingers had been mended and shattered an embarrassing number of times in the early use of his Crest. He guided her to look at him, his shining blue eye, deep as the ocean in the dark of the room.

"Thank you for bringing me here," he said, his tone deep and sincere. "The snow, the culture, my friends... I missed them more than I realized. I've had a very good night."

His last sentence was near whispered upon her lips, his thick lower lip tickling against her mouth.

Eyes closed, Marianne hummed her approval, bumping her nose against Dimitri's; narrow and then bulbous, a pretty princely feature that somehow he still maintained despite the violence in his life.

He bent to kiss Marianne, his hands finding her upper arms, her shoulders, her neck, and her twin braids, a gift from Annette that extended nearly to Marianne's waist.

"I should let you sleep," Dimitri whispered, though he felt how Marianne's hands wandered, pressing his shirt against the muscles on his chest and stomach.

Marianne looked from her bed to Dimitri. "Let me sit," she requested, "and I'll untie your hair. Stay with me a while longer." She swayed a little and Dimitri worried he would have to catch her. "Your friends are kind," Marianne confided, "but it felt a little strange as the night wore on, and maybe it's just me, and maybe it's just the building, but I know I can rely on you. Say you'll stay."

"A while longer," Dimitri agreed, drifting a thumb through her bangs as his hand rested on the side of her tightly bound hair again.

He sat between her knees while she pulled the ribbon from his fine hair, carefully carding through it with her fingers around the strap of his eye patch, and then allowing her hands to find the muscles of his neck, thick from stress and training.

One dainty foot made it's way over one of Dimitri's monstrous shoulders, and he brought the opposite one over his other side, leaning back into Marianne's space so her skirt ballooned out around him. They shared a soft laugh.

"Did you have any trouble today?" Marianne asked, gentle in her approach of his occasional visions.

"I thought of Glenn," Dimitri confided, "but I am uncertain if I saw him or imagined him today. There are many memories of him here. And ... at the gates, I ... I saw some violence that was not there, but I could not hear it. I'll write it down tomorrow."

"Tell me about Glenn? There must be a happy memory tucked into what came to mind."

"He would have made you feel welcome," Dimitri insisted with a smile. "He was very personable, and I was always glad to be in his company — though I was always closer with Felix, and so thought, like Felix, that I was in contest with him. Unless my Crest activated, I was always left embarrassed, and regardless of whether my Crest activated, I always lost. Felix was often disappointed in both of us."

.

Dimitri spoke of friends like family until well after Marianne curled up on her side. He stayed on the floor, and spoke with less frequency, though the memories didn't fade. He could picture Glenn on the opposite side of the room, a macabre spectre of the self from his memories, but it wasn't a hallucination this time, just a horrible imagining, the loss of a friend.

Dimitri kissed Marianne's forehead, and she mumbled that she was still awake, despite sounding as if she were miles away. Still, Dimitri smiled and kissed her lips, just in case, and then left for his own chamber.

[justanother-unluckysoul]

CS Fic: You Are My Shelter

Rating: T

Word count: 5k

Summary: An unexpected blizzard hits while Emma and Killian are enjoying a quiet vacation in their forest cabin, forcing them to shelter in place until it passes. The temporary isolation probably wouldn’t have been so bad if Killian hadn’t also gotten injured.

A completely self-indulgent story that hopefully some of you will enjoy.

A/N: Bet you weren’t expecting another story from me so soon but this one kind of appeared out of nowhere, built from one sentence and a vague vibe. It was basically just an excuse to whump Killian a bit, but also to write snuggly cosy CS scenes when real life weather was cold and gross.

Read on AO3

You Are My Shelter

“I’ll be back soon,” Emma had said with a quick kiss to his lips, “Just be careful up there, okay?”

Killian had told her not to worry, that he’d spent centuries climbing the rigging on the Jolly Roger and that clearing the chimney of their holiday cabin would be easy. She had been worried, but he’d placated her, and she’d cautioned him one last time before reluctantly leaving for town. There was a storm brewing, carrying a threat of heavy rain and early-season snow, and both of them wanted to be prepared in case it turned out worse than predicted. But either way, the fireplace was certainly going to get some use, hence why Killian was clearing bird nests from the chimney. It was overdue really, but they hadn’t been out here for a few months, their little cabin nestled in a forest about an hour’s drive away from Storybrooke. The sun was getting low, but the work warms him up quickly, enough to be quite comfortable in just the shirt and trousers he’d stripped to before he’d started. He hadn’t been lying when he said he was used to heights and climbing. Even the slipperiness of the shingles wasn’t unexpected, and he was carefully bracing himself and planting his feet firmly. So Killian isn’t sure what happened. The wind was getting stronger; he could see rain on the horizon, creeping closer and maybe he tried to rush a little bit, wanting to get the job done and get off the roof before the weather turned. Whatever the cause, his foot slips, he scrambles for a handhold and there’s none, Killian is sliding and falling and he really should have had some sort of rope to hold him. The benefit of hindsight. There’s a moment of weightless terror as he goes off the edge of the roof and plunges unchecked towards the ground. He doesn’t remember landing.

Wake up, Killian, please. I can't carry you. 

Emma is panicked, almost in tears, the urgency with which she pulls at his shirt and pats his cheeks drawing him back to a groggy awareness. He is so tired. He's not certain he's even awake now, his surroundings taking on a surreal, distant quality as he tries to blink Emma's frightened face into focus. He thinks he’s lying on the ground, though he’s so numb and tired he’s not certain of that either. What happened? he tries to ask, but the sound he actually makes is more like a weak groan than anything comprehensible.

Killian, please wake up. I need you to help me. 

Somehow he’s on his feet. His body doesn't feel like his own, slow and so, so heavy. Emma dragging him forwards, the world blurring around them, just a little further, Killian, we're almost there. He stumbles through the cabin doorway into the dark room beyond, only Emma's hold on him keeping him from collapsing right there. When he does fall, it's onto something soft - a bed, perhaps. He thinks Emma is trying to get his damp clothes off; that's a good idea, he'll surely catch his death from cold if he stays in them. He should help her. But his strength is depleted, the world is going dark once more, and he knows nothing after that.

 He comes to with a scorching pressure against his back, and when he tries to squirm away, he notices the arm wrapped around his middle, searing and restrictive.

"Lie still, Killian," Emma murmurs and he feels as though his skin blisters under her breath on his neck. 

Emma, stop, it hurts, he tries but he is weak and trembling and the words are too quiet, slurred between his numb lips and dry tongue.

"Lie still. It's okay." 

He groans, giving up. He is too bloody tired to fight anymore. His fingers and toes have started to prickle with sensations, as though they are just coming back to life. And now the shivers begin to roll through him in earnest, relentless and uncomfortable, rattling his teeth.

"Shhh. You’re okay. Come back to me, Killian."

He whimpers and groans and keeps shaking, while Emma maintains her tight hold on him and coaches him gently as his breath drags roughly against his parched throat, relax, Killian, it's okay, everything's going to be okay, I promise. As his body slowly crawls back from the brink of frozen death, Killian can hear the howl of wind against the cabin walls, the storm shaking the window panes while something in the roof rattles threateningly with each gust. He’s wrapped in Emma’s arms, her body pressed against his naked back, blankets piled atop them both.

“Are you with me, Killian?” Emma asks softly, and her breath doesn’t burn him this time, his skin slowly warming.

“S-swan,” he whispers; all he can manage right now.

“Oh, thank god.” Her voice is a damp sob against his neck.

She shifts now, sliding away and rolling him onto his back, the warm blankets pulled away. He wants them back. He wants Emma back.

“I have to… I have to stitch this. Shit, Killian, it’s-”

Her breath shudders, and Killian wants - needs - to see what’s happened, what’s upsetting Emma. He needs to reassure her that he’s okay. But he hasn’t the strength to move; with his blood warming, awareness trickling back in, his head has begun to throb and spin woozily, and there’s a growing cognition of the deep pain in his thigh. He can do nothing but lie there helplessly, teeth gritted against the discomfort as Emma pokes at what he supposes is a nasty wound on his leg. He misses the blankets. He’s still shivering miserably, though he can no longer tell if it’s from cold or heat or simply the pain. There are too many sensations, the agony in his thigh increasing exponentially under Emma’s hesitant ministrations and despite his best efforts to stay conscious, Killian is soon floating away in a daze. The wind roars - or perhaps that is him, he can’t tell. His mind is entirely lost to the pain and the misery; no amount of soothing words will be able to reach it now, though he can hear Emma trying anyway. The wind is going to tear this cabin apart, as surely as the pain is tearing him apart, his agonized cries lost beneath the scream of the storm.

***

The world is muted, soft sounds filtering into Kllian’s ears as though from a great distance. He's more exhausted than he's ever been in his life, yet at the same time it feels as though he's been lying in this bed for days, drifting in a haze of restless sleep amid the pain that's still twinging in his leg. His leg twitches without conscious thought, and the twinge becomes a vicious bolt of pain, his teeth gritted against it and the encroaching darkness as his back arches, hand clawing at the blanket to steady himself. Staying as still as he can, taking deep lungfuls of precious air, vowing to never move again if that is the result, waiting for the pain to ease. Killian remembers Emma being with him before - remembers a soft touch and gentle words - but there had also been a searing, deep agony in his thigh and a terrible pounding in his head, and he had been cold and confused and so weak, desperate for Emma just to hold him. For her soothing embrace to allow him to find some measure of peace amongst the torment, to ground him in reality as the pain and exhaustion twisted the world around him. But she hadn't held him the way he wished, too busy trying to piece him back together, her voice distant as she worked. And peace had come for Killian, eventually, in the form of blissful unconsciousness, ignoring Emma's increasingly desperate pleas for him to keep fighting the lure of the dark; she should know by now that Killian had never been good at resisting darkness. But he is awake now, the room bathed in weak daylight that doesn’t hurt his head, a roaring fire lit in the hearth casting a warmth through the room. The blankets are thick and heavy and soft, and Killian is in no hurry to move from this position of relative comfort, the ice finally gone from his veins, the pain ebbing away. Emma creeps into the room holding a cup of something steaming and sweet, her thick socks barely making a sound on the floorboards, smiling in relief when she sees him awake.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, setting the cup on the bedside drawers and easing herself onto the mattress beside him.

“Tired,” he admits, “Hurts to move.”

Emma presses her hand against his forehead briefly before tugging the blankets down so she can check his wound. He tries not to flinch as she carefully peels the bandage away and prods gently at the sensitive skin around the injury.

“No sign of infection,” she muses, “It’s just going to take time to heal. It was very deep.”

She covers him back up.

“You should drink something. I know you’re hurting, but can you sit up for me?”

Sitting up is agony, but with Emma’s help he manages to get upright, propped against the pillows, his arm wrapped around his middle as he sucks in sharp, shaky breaths. The room tilts away from him and he grabs clumsily for Emma’s arm, his head pounding.

“You okay?” she murmurs, and he shakes his head, swallowing thickly, “Shh, I’ve got you. Take some slow breaths, that’s it.” 

She has procured a wet washcloth from somewhere, and she uses it to wipe the cold sweat from his face as he struggles against the urge to vomit, the combination of pain and dizziness rising to an unbearable level. It feels like hours before his body calms, before the pain eases back to a dull ache and the room settles, and he can take the offered cup of tea. Though it must not have really been hours because the tea is still quite warm. The gentle spice of it soothes his churning stomach and calms the trembling of his hands as he sips at it, watching Emma stack more wood onto the dwindling fire.

“The storm…?”

“Still here,” she replies, “But it’s snowing now.” 

Killian can’t see out the window well from this angle; there’s only white nothingness beyond the glass, but he doesn’t dare move again so he simply takes Emma’s word for it. He’s content to stay where he is now, leant against the pillows with tea in hand and the blankets pooled around his waist as the fire begins to roar in its box once more.

“Do you need anything else?” Emma asks, when she’s satisfied with the state of the fire. 

“Just you, love.”

Emma smiles and ducks her head, a slight blush rising on her cheeks at his statement. She is still not quite sure how to respond to Killian’s casual affection, the openness with which he loves her, and so he’s made a vow to himself to say such things to her as often as possible until she accepts it without this uncomfortable hesitation. He pats the space next to him. 

“Come sit with me, Emma. It’s too miserable a day not to spend it in bed.”

It doesn’t take much to convince her. She tucks herself close to Killian’s side, pulling the blanket over herself as well, her socked toes pressed against his legs as she rests her head on his shoulder.

“Like this?” Emma asks.

“Perfect,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

He drinks the rest of his tea in silence, letting the crackle of the fire fill the room instead, the soft warmth of Emma’s body curling into him lulling him into a contented doze by the time he’s finished the drink.

 Killian wakes lying on his back once again, his eyes sticky and his mouth dry. The room is darker now but no less warm, the fire still crackling away, the outside chill barred by the heavy curtains now drawn across the windows. Killian’s hand flexes towards the thick bandages around his thigh. The pain is a deep, relentless ache, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Tentatively, Killian takes a deeper breath, shifts his legs a little, relieved when it doesn’t hurt too much more than lying still does. He’s not brave enough to try sitting up yet, not without assistance, though it would be nice to soothe his parched throat with the glass of water he can see sitting on the cabinet beside the bed. After a moment, his thirst overrides his reluctance to move.

“Emma,” he rasps, and it’s a bloody miracle she actually hears him from the main room. 

“Hey.” She’s at his side in a moment, checking his forehead again, fussing over him anxiously. “What is it?”

“Thirsty,” Killian whispers.

“Okay. Did you want to try sitting up again?”

He nods, and she gently assists him upright, stuffing pillows behind his back, brushing her fingers slowly through his hair until the spinning in his head settles and he can take the glass. The water is delicious, fresh and cool, and he has to resist the urge to gulp it all down as fast as possible, taking slow, small sips instead until the glass is empty.

“I’ve got some soup on the stove if you want to eat.” Emma tucks the blanket higher around his waist. “You should eat.”

The smell wafting into the bedroom is actually making him salivate a little; he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now. He wonders how long it’s been since he last ate. Once he’s eating a bowl of steaming soup, Emma stokes up the fire and then settles cross legged at the end of the bed, tucking into her own meal. 

“How long has it been?” Killian asks, “Since… since you found me.”

Emma glances at her watch.

“Uh, that was yesterday evening. So, about a day, I guess?”

“Bloody hell.” He’s stunned to know he’s been barely conscious for such a long time. No wonder Emma was worried. “It’s not still snowing, is it?”

Emma bites at her lip anxiously. “It is. The rain had turned to snow by the time I got home, and you were just… just lying there, soaked through. God, Killian, I thought you were…” She can’t bring herself to say it.

“I’m going to be alright, love,” Killian assures her, wishing Emma wasn’t sitting quite so far away that he can’t reach out and comfort her.

“I’ve phoned for help last night, but nobody can get in because the snow is too thick already. We… could be stuck here for a while.” She picks at a loose thread on the blanket, her dinner forgotten.

Her fear is palpable, and not unwarranted. Killian hasn’t gotten a look at his leg yet, but he knows Emma had to sew it closed, and knows it must have been a vicious gash. He must have caught it on something on the roof as he’d slid. Whatever the cause, it’s a nasty injury; he can feel that much. 

“There’s no one I’d rather be stuck with,” he says, with far more cheerfulness than he feels.

Emma smiles at that, but her eyes are still troubled. Killian gestures at her half finished bowl, you need to eat too, my love. She does, but slowly, and he can tell she’s struggling to get it down, her worry ruining her appetite. His heart aches. He’s annoyed that he didn’t have the foresight to use a rope, because he should have known better. More than anything, he hates being the cause of Emma’s stress. She’s been through enough without having to worry about him over a stupid mistake.

 After dinner, Emma helps Killian limp to the bathroom. It feels good to be out of bed, although Emma is quick to coax him back when he’s done.

“I’m okay, Emma,” he says, feeling like he’s said it so many times already, “I’m not going to break.”

Truthfully, walking around is hurting his leg and the dizziness has returned now that he’s standing up, but it’s a small price to pay for the freedom of being on his feet again. Emma observes him with a furrowed brow, her lips pursed, but Killian gently kisses that expression off her face.

“I’m sorry I scared you, love. But I promise I’m feeling better. You’ve done a good job here.” He gestures to his thigh, where the neat line of stitches are pinching at him if he’s not careful enough. “But just for you, sweetheart, I’ll go back to bed for a while. Okay?”

“Okay. And I… I should check your leg again. We can’t risk infection.”

It hasn’t been long since she last looked at it, but Killian asquieces, shimmying his trousers off and settling back on the bed, knowing she needs this to allay her fears. Her hands are steady as she presses her fingers lightly beside the line of stitches, and Killian can’t help the tensing of his stomach muscles as she does, fighting with his body’s instinct to pull away from the touch so close to his wound. A soft grunt is all that escapes him, but it’s enough to make Emma’s face crumple in guilt as she pauses.

“Sorry,” she whispers, and Killian quickly shakes his head.

“It’s alright.”

She watches him for a moment longer and he is careful to keep any sign of pain from his expression, before she returns to her task. Emma’s brow furrows in concentration as she tends his injury, the corner of her mouth pulling in a small grimace, before her eyes dart back up to meet Killian's. He tries to give her a reassuring smile.

“How does it look?” he asks.

“It’s… it’s okay. I think.” Emma sighs, looking tired and stressed. “I’m not good at this, Killian. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing fine, love,” he tells her sincerely, “And as soon as we get back to Storybrooke, you can use your magic to heal it completely.”

He tugs her closer so he can kiss her again.

“I know,” she says, “I just worry. Between the concussion, and the hypothermia, and the nearly bleeding to death…” She presses her fingers against his lips, halting the words that he’d been about to speak. “And don’t just tell me you’re a survivor.” 

Killian chuckles softly as she moves her fingers, stroking along his jawline. Emma knew him too well; that had been exactly the line he was about to say. 

“Alright, I won’t. But I will be alright, Swan, in your care. And I’m sure we’ll be out of here soon.”

 ***

The following day had started a bit brighter, the snowfall easing, and Killian had spent the morning on the couch, trying to read but his eyes refused to focus, and stubbornly trying anyway had only brought his headache back. So he set the book aside and watched Emma potter about the cabin instead, fetching firewood and melting snow for drinking water. The frigid nights had frozen the water pipes solid, and with no sun to warm them during the day, there was no running water. It didn't bother Killian much - he still considered such modern conveniences to be a luxury. And though he would have appreciated a warm bath or something today, he's not about to ask Emma to fill one for him. He feels useless enough, frustrated and bored, stuck sitting on the couch while Emma does all the work, without adding to her list of chores. 

“Hey, are you doing okay?” He’s pulled out of his self-pity by Emma sitting beside him, taking the book from his loose fingers. 

“I’m fine,” he says automatically, his voice distant and hollow in his own ears. 

Emma doesn’t believe him, he can tell. She reaches out to smooth the furrow between his brows, fingers carding through his hair as he leans into the touch. The gentle pressure against his scalp feels so good, easing the tightness his attempt at reading had caused.

“You can be honest with me,” she whispers, “Please. I want to help.”

“No, it’s okay. You’ve already done so much, Emma, I can’t...” I can’t ask for more, it wouldn’t be right.

“But you’re hurting, aren’t you? Is it your head?”

He nods, eyes falling closed as he accepts the comfort she offers him. 

“Maybe reading wasn’t the best idea.” Killian hums in agreement. “Do you want to go back to bed? Maybe lying down will help.”

“I’m tired of lying down,” he complains, sharper than he intended, his head lolling against the back of the couch miserably. 

“Okay.” Emma’s quiet, patient tone only makes him feel worse, angry with himself for lashing out. 

Instead of saying anything else, Emma simply picks up the discarded book, tucks her knees up and cuddles closer to him, and begins to read the story aloud. Killian’s protest is instinctive.

“Swan, you don’t n-” 

“Shh, I’m reading,” Emma says firmly, and continues.

An amused, affectionate chuckle escapes Killian. Gods above, he is so lucky to have this woman in his life. 

 Emma has hardly stopped pacing all evening, stealing fretful glances out the window, where the snow is falling thick and fast once more. The power had gone out around midday but they were prepared for it, candles for lighting and the fireplace for cooking. It was cosy like this, in the warmth and dimness. After dinner, Killian had moved from the couch to the rug by the fire, much to Emma’s concern, but here he can be useful, stoking the fire when it gets low, and with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders at Emma’s insistence, he’s really quite comfortable. He’d fallen asleep while she read to him earlier, like a child which was rather embarrassing, but when he woke his headache had gone and he’d felt quite a bit better. But Emma had been anxious again by then, the calm softness she’d exuded as she read to him now entirely gone from her demeanor as she walked the length of the cabin. Back and forth, over and over. 

“If you keep that up, you’ll wear a track into the floorboards,” Killian teases.

Emma doesn’t seem to appreciate, or even notice, his attempt at lightening the mood.

“It’s still snowing,” she notes worriedly.

He pushes himself up from the floor, wincing at the pull of healing skin and the ache in his knees from too long spent folded. Emma reaches for him quickly, in that fussing way she has whenever his face twists in pain, but he takes her into his arms before she can do anything.

“We’ll be alright, love.”

A slight shiver passes through her as she returns his embrace.

“I’m just… I’m scared, Killian.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you, Emma. I won’t let it.”

She pushes her hand against his chest, creating just enough distance so she can look at his face.

“I’m not scared for myself,” she whispers, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears, “Killian, I’m scared for you.”

It hits him hard, hearing her fears spoken aloud, and guilt wracks him at the expression on her face.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling her close once more, “I’m so sorry, love. But we’re going to be fine, I promise you.”

She hiccups a sob into Killian's chest and he shushes her, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as he holds her tight.

“You can’t promise that," Emma whimpers, and his heart shatters because he knows it's true.

They are going to be trapped in this place for gods know how long, and Killian’s utterly helpless to do anything about it. Even if he wasn’t injured, the unpredictable and freezing conditions outside makes any attempt to leave ill advised, if not impossible. And he knows his wound worries Emma, bringing her fears of infection and complications, though her medical prowess had so far proved commendable. 

“We’ve faced worse odds than a little snow, darling,” Killian says, with far more conviction than he feels, “We will be alright.”

“It’s more than a little snow,” she argues, but her voice is steadier now, Killian’s strong front doing as intended to unleash a little more strength of her own.

He holds her a little longer, his hand moving to smooth her hair until Emma takes a deep breath and pulls away.

“Sorry.” She wipes her eyes and sniffs a few times. “Sorry. I’m okay.”

“It’s alright, love,” he says, “It’s been a rough couple of days.” Killian palms her cheek gently, his thumb brushing an errant tear from her face. “Do you want to come to bed now?”

She nods, taking another deep, shaky breath.

“Let me just put some more wood on the fire first.”

“Okay.”

Killian’s already settled into bed by the time Emma returns, stomping the snow off her boots as she enters the cabin, a blast of frigid air following her before she can slam the door shut. In a few minutes, the firebox is filled with extra logs and Emma slips under the blankets beside him, tucking herself close, her toes like ice against his legs.

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he yelps, flinching away, “Where are your socks? Put your socks back on.”

Emma giggles, having entirely too much fun poking him with her freezing feet, making him squirm and curse until he flips over, pinning her solidly beneath his body. She’s grinning up at him, more relaxed than Killian’s seen her in days. The movements have caused his injury to throb again, but he carefully hides any sign of pain in his expression. He doesn’t want to bring down the mood.

“That was bad form,” he tells her in mock-irritation.

“Yeah?” Emma breathes, and she’s clearly flirting with him, trying to goad him into something more.

Killian leans down slowly, until his lips are nearly brushing her ear, feeling her body shiver with anticipation before he growls-

“Where did you leave your socks, Emma?”

And she dissolves into giggles again, as expected, and Killian can’t help laughing with her as he rolls back over onto the mattress. They’re terribly tangled in the covers now but neither of them care. 

“Seriously though, my love, please put your socks back on.”

She goes quiet, suddenly, a morose mood falling back over the room and Killian turns to look at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“The snow has gotten too deep,” she says, quiet and shameful and anxious, “It went over the top of my boots tonight and… my socks got wet.”

“They’ll dry, love.” He doesn’t understand why she’s so upset about this. Surely she’s dealt with damp socks before? “Have you put them by the fire?”

“Yes, but I’m not worried about that, Killian,” she snaps, frustrated, and Killian rubs her arm soothingly, “My socks might dry tonight, but the same thing will just happen again when I go out in the morning. Because it’s still snowing. We’re trapped, Killian, and you- What if- How much longer-”

Killian gathers her into his arms and kisses her forehead, silencing her panicked rambling as her mind jumps from one horrible thought to another. 

“Shh, my darling, don’t fret,” he murmurs, “My wound is healing well, you know that. And we still have enough food and firewood for an entire week. Perhaps even longer, if we rationed it out. We’ll figure a way around the sock thing, okay?”

Emma sighs, relaxing into his embrace.

“Okay.” She nuzzles the tip of her nose against his chest. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I just worry. I hate being…”

“Trapped?”

“Helpless.”

“You aren’t helpless, Emma. Trapped, yes, but only for now. This foul weather won’t last, and we’ll be home soon enough.”

She hums softly. Killian can’t tell if it’s in agreement or dismissal, but either way, Emma burrows tighter into his hold and not long afterwards, her breathing has deepened in sleep. Killian lies awake much longer, his own mind racing with possibilities and plans that could get them out of here, before he finally succumbs to his own tiredness as well.

***

Dawn finds the fire all but burned out, but weak sunlight is creeping between the curtains for the first time since the storm. There’s a steady dripping sound from somewhere; snow melting off the roof, perhaps - he hopes. Killian slips out of bed, careful not to wake Emma, and pads quietly to the window, peering out at the white surroundings. The sky is clear, brilliantly blue in contrast to the snow. He calls out to Emma, jubilant and more relieved than he can remember feeling in a long time.

“What is it?” Emma mumbles groggily, sitting up with the blanket pulled up to her chest to ward off the chill in the room.

“See for yourself,” he says, pulling the curtains open and allowing the sunshine to fill the room.

Emma gasps in delight, her sleepiness forgotten as she throws the blankets aside and quickly joins him at the window.

“It’s stopped snowing. Killian, we… we can leave.”

Giddy with relief, Emma spins around to hug him tightly.

“I told you we’d be alright, didn’t I?” he says, and before he knows what’s happening Emma is kissing him hard, her body pressed impossibly close to his, a hand sliding down the bare skin of his back to bring him even closer as the days of stress and worry pour out of her in one deliriously hot kiss.

“Just one more thing before we go,” she mumbles against his lips.

Killian groans into her mouth, his body immediately responding to her actions, to the need and urgency with which she’s kissing him and he’s kissing her, his hand in her hair and his hook at her hip. Hardly breaking for air, he manuevours them smoothly back to the bed, falling onto the rumpled blankets, hissing in pain as his wound makes itself known again. Emma grimaces.

“Sorry, I-”

“I’m okay, love,” Killian assures her, “We can keep going.”

He kisses her again, slow and sensual this time, the mood changing from the frantic urgency to something gentle and easy, but no less passionate. Perhaps they won’t go further than tasting each other’s lips, enjoying the reassurance of a loving embrace - though with Emma gasping his name, whispering I love you as Killian’s hand and mouth trace teasing patterns across her soft skin, the allure is almost too strong for Killian to hold himself back. He’s so focused on Emma, on their closeness and how good it feels, that he doesn’t register the sound of an engine until there’s a knock at the door and someone calling out to anyone home? Of course. Now that the storm has passed, they are being ‘rescued’.

“Bloody hell,” Killian gasps, the realization like a wave of cold water thrown against his face.

Way to ruin the mood. Emma is soft and warm and needy beneath him and he is sorely tempted to yell out give us a few more minutes, mate! but he knows he shouldn’t. Emma laughs breathlessly.

“Damn it,” she says.

“My sentiments exactly.”

He rolls off her to flop onto his back, running his hand over his face in annoyance.

“Aren’t you going to go see who it is?” Emma giggles, sitting up and raising an eyebrow at the state of him, and Killian frowns at her, not nearly so amused by this situation as she seems to be.

“I think I need a minute,” he mutters, his voice ragged.

Emma jumps off the bed and tries to smooth down her tangled hair, pulling her clothes on in a rush as the knock sounds again.

“I’m coming!” she calls out, and shoots Killian a glare, hissing, “Don’t even say it.”

He quickly shuts his mouth against the dirty innuendo he was about to say, smirking instead and Emma rolls her eyes at him, but she’s smiling as she leaves the room.

 Once Killian has calmed down enough he thinks it won’t be too obvious what they’d been up to, he slips his own clothes back on and limps to the door. The rescue team is determined to take them both straight to the hospital, although Killian insists he’s fine, that Emma had tended his wound already. Besides that - though he doesn’t give this information to the strangers - as soon as they’re over the town line again she can simply use her magic to heal it completely. But they won’t be swayed. Killian clenches his jaw and glares fiercely at their rescuers, his annoyance only tempered by Emma’s gentle hand on his arm.

“It won’t take long,” Emma murmurs, “And then we can go home and finish what we started.” Her quiet, sultry tone is only for Killian to hear as her hand slips into his.

It takes the anger right out of him, her voice and the expression on her face. And Killian thinks she’s never looked more beautiful than right now, her face lit by the sun for the first time in several days, cheeks still flushed with the heat of their almost earlier, her eyes bright and her smile wide.

“Aye, love. I look forward to it.”

The End

TAG LIST:  @teamhook​ - @klynn-stormz​ - @xarandomdreamx​ - @zaharadessert​ - @kmomof4​ - @therooksshiningknight​ - @batana54​ - @ultraluckycatnd - @anothersworld​ - @tiganasummertree​ - @jonesfandomfanatic​ - @the-darkdragonfly​ - @jrob64​ - @hollyethecurious​ - @lfh1226-linda - @elizabeethan​ - @moviequeen51​ - @onceratheart18​

[honeypirate]

Through The Roof

Elfman x fem!reader

You didn’t know you’d run into another guild member on your mission, being a fairly new member and all, you wouldn’t have recognized him if it wasn’t for the guild mark on his neck.

The city was busy and bustling, it was Saturday morning and the market had just opened. You were here to find out the reason behind many missing persons in the city, the only fact you had to go on was that where the break-ins happened, a small wooden bird was found. You took the mission from the board and got here in a week, now you were investigating and asking questions in the town square, where the last incident happened.

As you stopped for lunch you were waiting in line at a food cart, looking out at the crowds of people, when you first spotted his silver hair, you had to double take when you saw the black mark on his neck that was a twin to your own. You stared for a few moments, admiring his strong arms and handsome face, wondering how he got his scar on his face, before you panic and gasp, turning quickly when you realize he’s walking your direction

Your heart was racing, the smell of fresh bread filling your senses when the door to the bakery opened. For some reason, when you thought about this handsome man realizing you were in the same guild, you felt shy. You didn't want him to know because then he would talk to you and you might embarrass yourself.

Your eyes focus on the window and on your reflection, you have on a white sleeveless tank top tucked into black tapered at the ankle cotton pants that are held up by a black ribbon. Your arms are out, your hands on your hips, the various scars looked even lighter against your skin which was darker from your travels.

You reach up to fix your hair and notice the man is now behind you, you make eye contact with his reflection and he smiles “y/n?” he asks and you turn around, smiling up at him, your heart hammering in your chest as you tried to seem like you weren’t incredibly nervous.

“I know by your mark that it’s you, I dont know why i asked.” the handsome man holds out his hand “Elfman Strauss, Maracov sent me, thought you might need some help since he got an update about the posting” you take his hand and shake firmly “it’s nice to meet you Elfman, what was the update?”

“The mission was moved up a few ranks, the birds belong to a dark guild that moved into the area, the only problem is if anyone finds the hideout, it immediately disappears” you sigh as you reach your turn at the food cart “isn’t that interesting then… well.. Can’t fight on an empty stomach. Are you hungry?” you ask, your worry about embarrassing yourself slowly ebbs away when his only answer is a shrug after his stomach growls incredibly loud. You double your order with a laugh. You pay and before he has a chance to even object you are already shoving his half into his hands. “Let’s sit and you can tell me about yourself so I know how we can fight together well”

After you finish your lunch you are both laughing so hard your sides hurt, he was so easy to get along with and so funny. You were put at ease so quickly after he made his first witty remark, you got through introductions and talked about how your magic worked, once you were done talking business he really opened up, being his true self with you.

“How about we split up to investigate and if we find anything we find the other before we attack? And if we don't find anything we will meet back up at the inn” he nods “i’ll follow your lead!” you laugh “you really shouldnt though, im a greenie, if you have a better idea please let me know so i can learn too” he nods “dont worry, it sounds like a good start. It’s what i was thinking” you beam up at him and his heart melts “cool, okay i’ll take the north side you take the south”

When you go to knock on the door of the last house your hand freezes in the middle of the air as the side of the building explodes out, you panic when you notice the body in the wreck is Elfman. Your stomach drops “are you okay?” you shout and he puts up a fist, his thumb up. “Found the hideout” he groans and you run around the rubble to his side “you said you’d come find me!” the group of people who appear through the smoke and duts, was obviously the wizards you were looking for, no mistaking the thick feeling of hatred and bloodlust that fills the air.

“He fell through the roof” a guy in the middle with blue spiky hair says, spit stuck in the corner of his mouth. Your body moves slowly, placing yourself between the group of evil wizards and Elfman “so you threw him through the wall? Makes sense” you say through gritted teeth “well he’s the only one to break through to our hideout, we had to show him a good time” a small spindly person to your right says while laughing.

Your hands balled into fists against Elfman's chest and you sigh, relaxing and then putting on a sweet face as you stand and look at the one you think is in charge, tall dark hair and a smug smirk. You lick your lips and look the man over as you saunter over to him “Maybe I could show you guys a good time now?” You purr up at him and press yourself against his chest, he almost believes you, for a split second he buys your act, until your hand touches his neck and you use an electricity spell to taser him.

The other group members yell as they go to attack you but before they can Elfman is in his beast form, throwing their bodies to the ground.

“You almost had me convinced there.” he says with a nervous laugh when he changes back, his shirt now in tatters. “I know we just met an all, but Elfman…” you look up from your spot, crouching and tying up the bad guys, to meet his eye with a smile “betrayal isn’t the game I play” you stand and walk over to where he is, rubble and unconscious bodies surrounding you.

You reach up and brush the rocks and dust from his hair, checking him over for injuries, before meeting his eye and placing your palm against his chest “but if you wanted to have a little fun,” you lean in closer and whisper “I wouldn’t object” you chuckle at his bushing cheeks and the way he stumbles of his words. You pat his chest and walk away, grabbing a bad guy by the ankle and pulling him along “can you get the others? Let’s go turn them in and then hit the baths I’m so ready to relax”

You finish bathing in the hot red waters, the giant statues were kind of unsettling but you just kept your eyes closed. You wrap yourself in one of the robes that were provided to you and the silk of the material made you sigh in comfort when it touched your skin.

When you exit the bath to head back to your room you run into a half dressed and still dirty Elfman. “Hey what’s going on?” You ask, a little worried. He looks embarrassed, his cheeks flushed under the streaks of dirt, he reaches and scratches his neck with a nervous laugh “there are no rooms left, I’m on my way to the-“ you reach into the pocket of your pants which were folded in your arms and place an extra key in his hand “stay with me!” You say with an excited smile and then you realize what it sounded like.

Your cheeks flush a dark red and you look down to where your hands are connected, the key between your palms. “In an innocent friendly we’re in the same guild way. Like I’m not trying to make a move. Not that I don’t want to! You’re gorgeous! But I don’t move this quick! I.. I.. oh god” you laugh “you can stay with me unless it makes you uncomfortable, of course. Your choice” you walk away then, your heart racing and your cheeks hot enough to cook on. You felt so stupid.

“She.. she thinks I’m gorgeous” he’s frozen to his spot as he looks at your key, he feels honored that such a great magician and beautiful woman is so nice and is sharing her room. He will not! Mess! This! Up!

He takes off towards the baths, excitement in his stomach and heart to have more time with you.

You get some food delivered to your room and Elfman makes it back just after it’s been delivered. “I hope you’re hungry” you smile and kneel by the table as he makes his way into the room. “Oh come on you bought me two meals, letting me stay in your room. I’ll pay you back, I swear” you laugh, the sound was music to his ears “please, don’t worry about it. I like to take care of people. It’s just what I do.” You pat the ground next to you and begin to plate some of the food, setting some on his plate as he kneels beside you “thank you” he says softly. You place your hand on his back, rubbing it back and forth for a second “you’re welcome, Elfman”

you eat in silence for a moment, too happy with the food in front of you to think about anything.

You hear a little laugh and you look up to find him watching you “what?” You ask, your cheeks beginning to flush. “Nothing. You just uh, dance when you eat. It reminds me of my sister” you move your legs to the side so you could face him “you have a sister?” You smile and he nods “two actually” he holds up two fingers and then takes a drink of water that was on the table.

“What are their names?” Your whole attention was on him now, your tummy full and your eyes looking over his profile

“Mirajane and Lisanna” he clears his throat and tells you the story of his sister’s death and you swipe away your tears as you listen quietly, you didn’t know them but you can feel the hurt.

“Now, “ he says, his voice quiet and solemn “i live for Lisanna, so she can live on in my heart” you reach up and gently cup his cheek, wiping away his tears with your thumb “you’re so strong Elfman, thank you for sharing your story with me” his hand covers yours on his cheek and you lean up on your knees, bringing you up taller than him so you can kiss his forehead “i’m glad you were safe today. And that you chose to stay” his arms snake around you, hugging you tight to his chest, he felt so connected to you it was like he’s known you for years, not just hours.

You stayed like that for who knows how long, two touch starved people finally getting a little taste of affection and not wanting to let it go. You lay your head on top of his, your hand carding through his hair above his ear as you just held each other.

He felt your hand relax and fall to his shoulder, heard your breathing even out and slow down before he felt your body grow limp. he took the initiative and gently pulled you into his arms bridal style, holding you close to him for a moment as he looked at your calm relaxed face, relishing in how sweet and pretty you looked, before standing and taking you to the bed.

You woke up before the sunrise and laid there, staring at the ceiling as you tried to remember how you got to your bed. You gasp softly and your head turns swiftly to the side, before rolling over and smiling wide at the sweet man sleeping next to you. You sigh and then lift his arm up, moving slowly to cuddle yourself into him “im so glad you stayed” you whispered and kissed his bare chest before his arm tightened against you, making you smile as you fall asleep again,

When you wake up again, you smile at the weight of him laying on top of you, his head on your chest and arms out on either side, his legs between yours. You chuckle softly and begin to run your fingers through his hair.

He gasps and wakes with a start, pushing himself on his hands and looking down at you, your hands paused in his hair and you smile “good morning” you say and he looks at you for a few seconds more before releasing his arms and laying back down against you, tilting his head into your neck as he whispered “good morning beautiful” he mumbles and then smiles when he watches your neck flush, he leans up to get a look at the blush on your cheeks as well.

“Want to go to breakfast before we head out?” you ask, beginning to play with his hair again. “That sounds really nice” he says with a soft sigh, the feeling of your soft hands in his hair was relaxing.

When you are ready to go you meet Elfmman by the door of the room and he looks nervous you chuckle softly “are you okay?” you ask and he nods before clearing his throat “i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable by staying in your bed and not sleeping on the couch i-” you chuckle and place your hand on his chest, leaning up and kissing his cheek “i love that you stayed. I felt really special.” you run your hands down his chest and you kiss his guild tattoo on his neck softly before pulling back “are you ready to go home?” he nods with blushing cheeks and you smile “me too”

You talk easily on the trip home, sharing stories like old friends who could never grow apart. You stopped at inns to stay at or spent the night under the stars, sharing a room or having your bed rolls right beside each other. You grew closer to him over this week and by the time you returned to the city you were pretty sure you’d do anything for him.

When you saw the gates to the city you stopped to take in the view. You were a little worried about what would happen when you got back to the guild, what would happen for you and Elfman. Would you just be friends who once had a moment? Had one mission together? would you pretend it never happened?

He looks back at you and smiles as he waits, when you notice him you grin “do you want to go on a date with me?” you ask, straight to the point and his jaw drops “this is SO NOT MANLY! I was going to ask you out!!” he says a little bit flustered and you laugh at him, reaching and taking his hand as you walk again “so that’s a yes?” you ask and he clears his throat “yes it’s a yes. But i’m planning it, so i’ll pick you up tonight at sundown” you laugh and give his hand a squeeze “it’s a date” you say and his heart flutters at your sweet smile.

[addysonsophia]

Pressed Coffee

Pairing: Johnny x Reader (gender-neutral terms were used, but I had a fem!reader in mind when writing this).

Genre: Fluff, angst, some suggestive situations (not really).

Word Count: 9.1K

Summary: This is difficult to explain. I had to write this for a college lit class following the form of David Levithan’s Lover’s Dictionary, which twists the “normal” way of defining words. Told through the lens of a man we learn about his relationship, the reader doesn’t know the sequence of the events that are taking place before our very eyes, through the words that he has chosen to define with tableaus of his love life. I did this with Johnny, and I think I did a good job. Wow, this was a bad summary. Let’s try: How coffee can lead to a beautiful romance. Yeah that’s ok.

Warnings: None, some angst near the end. 

Caffeine n.

           I was late, like always.

           I woke up a whole hour later than normal, and that caused me to do a speed-run version of my morning routine. Good thing I shower at night—a great time saver. I left my apartment in twenty minutes; as I stepped out the door the noises of the morning surrounded me: cars bumper to bumper through the city making their way to work: morning joggers with their dogs and strollers zooming past the seemingly frozen vehicles; birds swooping down from the sky to the land, hopping, and hoping for some food.

           I quicken my pace as I head to the subway station on 48th Street; my shoes just a tiny bit too tight today, barely allowing me to keep my speed. Closer, I get to the orange sign, the faster time moves, never letting me get ahead, leaving me two steps behind. Down the stairs with a quick hop in my step, and a swipe of my subway card, I wait on the platform for my train. I looked to my watch, then to the board above the tunnel—the train was seven minutes way.

           “Crap.” Was what I said out loud but, in my head, I was breaking down. It takes a lot to make me stressed but being late was suspect number one. Being late, is like a mortal sin that has been ingrained into my psyche from a young age: all my after-school activities in high school emphasized how important being on time was. “If you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late. If you’re late, you’re dead.” That is what many band teachers, drama directors, and coaches have said to me. In college, there were consequences to being late, the beginning of practices would be spent running for every person not there (if they didn’t inform the coach that they would be late), then when the offender would arrive, they would run. Being on time shows that you are respectful, aware of other people and their time that they are giving up to also be there.

           With the rising levels of stress, I shot my boss a quick text:

           “I’m running a bit late. I’ll be in soon. Would you like me to pick anything up for you?”

           A minute later, she responded with:

           “That’s fine, you don’t have tons of work like normal. Can you get me a coffee? You know my order ;)” A sigh of relief fell from my mouth at the message, and the growing squealing sounds from the tunnel. I send back a thumbs up and slip my phone back into my pocket.

          The wind of the underground picks up as a silver train flew by, slowly coming to a halt. As the doors open, people being to push their way into their spots—I take mine towards the front of the car, another hand joining the many others on the rail overhead. Swaying back and forth, the lights flicker above me as the air conditioning blows; a baby sits on their parents’ lap in front of me with the biggest smile on their chubby face. A small wave is all it takes to grab the baby’s attention, smiling back, I make a funny face at them, and now they’re bubbling with the cutest laughter. They reach out to take my hand, their ravioli sized fist wraps around my pointer finger, and the last of my stress melts away with this little angel in front of me. The parent, also has a smile on their face, appeased with the behavior of their child—any form of travel with a baby is hard, so I try and make it a little easier for them.

          Sadly, my stop was up, and I waved bye to my new friend. I stepped off the train and headed up the stairs to 110th street. I already knew what coffee shop I was going to: there is a small café down the block from my office that has the best drinks and snacks—which was prefect because I had to skip breakfast. Hauling ass through the streets towards Papaya Acres Café, I mentally prepared my order.

           “One large, caramel swirl ice coffee, two and two liquid sugar; one medium hot coffee with regular cream and sugar; and a croissant with butter, warmed.” The bell chimed as I pulled the glass door open and was immediately bathed in the scent of coffee and sweets. I inched forwards in line towards the cash register, when I made it, I recited my order perfectly, paid, then waited at the pick-up counter. The bell above the door twinkling when more customers came in, the melodic music coming from the speakers, and the whining from the espresso machine. I pulled my phone out to kill time before my order was ready, I opened Twitter and started scrolling through my feed.

           “Dude, you can’t just, like, look at someone like that and not expect to get punched in the face.”

           “I didn’t mean too! There was a-a-I don’t even remember, but she didn’t have to punch me.” What did this guy do? I know that I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help it, I had to listen in.

           “I don’t know, I saw your face, and I would have punched it too if you were looking at me like that.” The man, that was facing me, had brown hair that was styled away from his face, leaving his brown eyes on display—they were light and full of mischief. He wore a grey sweatshirt that looked comfy as hell, and he had a smile stretched across his face.

           “Well, he seems nice.” I whisper to myself, my lips dancing into a smile. I turned my back to them, deciding it better to not listen in anymore.

           “I don’t know any—”

           “Miss, here’s your order.” Two coffees sat in a carrying tray and a bag—hopefully containing my croissant—in between the drinks.

           “Thank you, have a great day.” My smile grew as I picked up my order. Turning back to the door, I began texting my boss that I was on my way. I made it a few steps when my hands were knocked towards me.

          He was early, like always.

 Frustrated adj.

           Today, out of any day, today was the day that I was going to cry in public. Now, I never usually cry, not at movies (sometimes I do, I’m not heartless), not at sad songs, not when I’m stressed, and definitely not in public. But this just broke the dam.

           There I stood, in the middle of a coffee shop, with both boiling and freezing coffee down the front of my white sweater—well, my now, brown sweater—and cute black pants. The clear plastic cup sat crushed next to the paper cup, the rest of the hot coffee melting the ice on the floor. A pair of faded, black converse faced my black shoes. Tears begin to pool in my eyes, the tiled floor becoming blurry, hands clasp my shoulders and my head snaps up.

           “Are you okay?” Deep brown eyes stare back at mine. The tears being to race down my face.

           “Yeah.” I nod slowly.

           “Then why are you crying?” A soft hand comes to my cheek, his thumb brushes a tear away. After that I just completely broke down, like big ugly sobs, snot—everything. His hands shift, moving from my face and shoulder to caressing my head and holding my back.

           “I woke up late, then my train was late, but my boss said it was fine and wanted me to get her a coffee, and then I split it all over me. But this is the fifth time I’ve been late this month, and my supervisor said that if I was late one more time, I have to meet with her.” With a heaving chest and choked sobs, I managed to explain my short morning. Sinking further, I wrapped my arms around the kind man and just let it out. I probably shouldn’t have done that, but he was so warm, and I was so tired—sometimes you just need a hug.

           “That was my fault, I’m sorry.” He whispered into my hair, a hand running up and down my back. Slowly, I began to calm down, savoring the hug for a few more moments before I pulled away. I looked at his grey sweatshirt and saw dark marks from where my face was and the remnants of the coffee.

           “It’s okay, I’m sorry that I got tears and snot on your sweatshirt.” Dabbing at my tears to dry my face, I turned away, getting mascara on my sleeve—the sweater was already ruined so it couldn’t get any worse. I pulled myself from his arms sighing, I bent down to grab my phone (thankful undamaged) and texted my boss what happened. I turned to the counter to reorder, and the worker already has my order ready.

           “Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” I begin to pull my wallet out to pay, but she was just shaking her head at me.

           “After what I just saw, you are fine. Don’t worry about it.” Her smile was kind. I went back up to the counter and put a couple of bills in the tip jar.

           “Thank you so much.” I turn back around and see the man still standing were I left him.

           “Hi, my name is Johnny. Can we start over again?”

Gilded adj.

           Being with Johnny was like being in a world of sunlight. Everything was filled with loud laughs, quiet whispers, longing glances, quick kisses, and loving touches. Of course, there were arguments and disagreements, we were a normal couple in a not so normal world. His job is demanding, long hours and weeks spent with the only kinds of communication are texts and FaceTime calls. At first, this arrangement was strange: dates spent at hole in the wall restaurants in a back-corner way from the other patrons; dinner and movies—at home; late (like 1 a.m.) walks in the park, and food from convenient stores. It was easy to get used to, and I get why it had to be that way. When your boyfriend is part of a world-known group, you can’t really go outside in broad daylight and be seen together—it would most likely ruin his career, and some of the fans go too far.

           I rolled over, a mess of blankets and sheet caught between us, and I just look at him. The sun streamed in through the curtains, filling the room with a warm glow. His hair turning a rich golden brown, the light doesn’t stop there, bathing his skin a shimmering yellow. The sight making me gasp, because in that moment, he looked ethereal—in that moment I knew I loved him.

           Soft breathes fell in the space between, I moved my hand and started tracing his face. Thick eyebrows, long lashes, strong nose, full lips, sharp jaw; this man looked like he was carved from the Gods themselves, and he was all mine.

           He groaned when I stopped my movements; arms moving, coming to pull me closer to his chest.

           “Morning.” Eyes still closed.

           “Morning.” Eyes opened, the brown catching the light and turned gold. I leaned in and placed a quick kiss to his lips, then tried to get up. But he wasn’t budging.

           “Where do you think you’re going?” He raised himself up on one arm, holding me with the other.

           “Bathroom.” He shook his head, I moved away again. Then he lifted himself up, arms coming to either side of me, only to lay himself on top of me, effectively stopping any attempts to start the day.

           “You’re not going anywhere.” His lips tickled my neck as he spoke. I sighed out and began to run my hands through his hair, and his breathing slowed. Shortly after, the snores started, and there was no way I was getting up for about an hour. I wrapped my arms around him and started to fall back to sleep.

           Perfect, it was perfect.

Hostile adj.

           It was a rare date night out, and I was brimming with excitement. Tonight, we went to our favorite restaurant then headed for a movie at my place. On the walk back to my apartment, something felt off. Footsteps and whispering followed every step of our own. I pulled my face mask higher up on my face as I looked around—to not cause suspicion. With a glance behind us, I saw a group of girls, and my heart sank. This was it; this is where the relationship ended; they were going to find out and tell everyone.

          See when you date a celebrity, there are rules because there are consequences. The fans of most groups are wonderful, the kindest people you will ever meet, but then there are a few that are not. These fans think that they are entitled to the artist: they stalk them; find their phone number, and call them constantly; they send death threats to anyone who gets close to their favorite artist—or worse to the artist themselves. To say I was scared would be an understatement.

           “John, there’s a group of girls behind us. They’ve been following us for a while.” I lean my head on his shoulder to not cause alarm.

           “John? Wha—Oh. Ok. Ah, let me think.” He became serious: eyebrows furrowed under his black cap; lips pursed behind his face mask. I don’t know how they found us; we were so careful.

          Steps grew closer, and I could hear some of what they were feverishly whispering about.

           “Do you think it’s him?”

           “It has to be. I mean, look at him.”

           “If it is him, who is that?”

           “I don’t know, but I think if I can get close enough I can—” With that they dared more steps, for every two we took, they took three. This was getting serious.

           “Ok, after we reach this corner, we are going to enter that store—see it? The bookstore? —then we are going to walk around inside until they follow us in, then after a few seconds we are going to leave, then make a break for it down the block. Sound like a plan?” It was a stupid plan, but it was the only one we had right now.

           “I guess, this better work.” My grip tightens on is arm, trying to ground myself in the situation.

           “Wait!” One of the girl’s screech behind me, I slightly turn my head to hear better.

           “—said that she spotted him on 1st and 3rd Street. Let’s go.” They all crossed the street and headed in down the block—away from us.

           “I think we are going to have to stop with the dates outside for a little while.” With a sigh, he nodded.

Lend v.

           It was a cool day, in October, and I forgot my jacket. Walking through the streets at night would have been fine if it were summer, but it wasn’t. I had been in such a hurry to get out of the apartment to meet up with him, that I just completely forgot to grab the jacket sitting on the hook by the door. I didn’t notice until I had made it to the restaurant.

           “Did you walk all the way here without a jacket?” I scooched my chair closer to the table, grabbing my glass to sip some water.

           “Uh, I forgot it to grab it when I left.” A chuckle falls from his mouth, his eyes curving to crescent moons, then he reached across the table to take my hand, his larger one encompassing my own.

           “You’re a freakin’ loser.” An often-used term of endearment. Eyes rolling, I squeezed his warm hand.

           “Takes one to know one.” His face breaks into a wide smile.

           The waiter came to take our order, and when he left, we just sat in each other’s gaze, content with the moment. The food came, bites were shared, and when the bill was paid, he offered to walk me home.

           With the moon rising higher in the sky, the temperatures dropped. Lights from shops, apartments, and streetlights created a world of color, drenching us in greens, blues, reds, and yellows. A gust of wind came from behind us, and in a moment of silence after—he dropped his jacket onto my shoulders. I laughed.

           “Thank you.” I looked at his profile, a strand of hair fell into his eyes, and he just left it. Lips were curved into a small smile—proud of the smoothness of the execution; a black turtleneck was the only thing shielding him from the weather, and from the looks of it, he was winning.

           “Always. Can’t have you freezing on me.”

           “I’m not going to freeze, Johnny.”

           “Not when I’m here, duh.”

           “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

           “I’m lucky you’re mine.” Not only was my body warm, but my face was too.

           He was smooth.

Loneliness adj.

           He was gone. Days had turned into weeks, and the bed had grown cold as nights were spent hoping for his return. Time seemed to move slower without him by my side; the sun and it’s jovial rays never seem to set, and when they do the moon and its frigid compassion surround me in an endless longing for the light. I know that I shouldn’t be acting like this, but he was my world.

           I made my way to the kitchen, the cold floors numbing my bare feet. The blanket wrapped over my frame providing little warmth. The rising sun casted an orange glow in the room. I slowly set my mug into the sink, washing the rings of coffee from the inside wall, my movements becoming sluggish as the world caught up with me.

           The lock beeps from the front door, gradually opening. Shuffling could be heard in the entryway: keys being placed on their hook, bags being set down, shoes being kicked onto the rug, and jackets being placed on the rack. Water running down the drain was the only thing that filled my ears—deaf, I was to the footsteps drawing closer. Mug in one hand and scrubber brush in the other, I gazed to the beginning of the day: lights flicking on room by room in the building across from me, people making their way of from their homes, cars starting to head towards their destination. Vibrations come from behind me as warm hands snake around my blanket, hands turning into arms and a chest pressed into my back. It does not shake me from my trace, still I gazed out the window—until warm lips press onto the top of my head. By the time I had set down the mug and scrubber, I was turned around, facing him. As I looked into his eyes, my own began filling with tears. Like the play button had been pressed, my hands shot out to grab his arms, pulling him closer.

           “You’re back?” uncertainty filling the room.

           “I’m back.”

           My world had returned. He pulled me from the sink, taking one of my hands and his other sliding to my back, he begun to sway. There we stood, dancing in the kitchen at 6 in the morning—revolving around each other, for we were the centers of our universe.

Nervous adj.

           The energy in the venue was high, everything was buzzing: the lights, the speaker, the crowd, and my heart. This was the first time that I saw Johnny’s group in person, I’ve seen concert videos, fan-cams, and their online concerts, but never in real life. He has been on tour for two months—which is a long time to only talk through FaceTime and texts, but it was well worth the wait. I managed to get tickets to their last show, shortly after followed plane tickets and a hotel reservation.

           The beginning of my day was spent sleeping in to get rid of the jet lag, once I was up and ready, I headed to the venue; the concert may start at 8 p.m., but you also have to get there early so you can get fan-made stuff and merch. I arrived at 4 p.m., and began to wait, making friends along the way, excitedly talking with them about the members, songs, moments, and theories for the next comeback.

           I made it to my seat, light stick, and fan banner in hand as I pulled my phone out to text him good luck—as I did for every concert. I went on Twitter to see that the concert was trending, a smile on my lips as I liked the groups’ pre-concert posts. The fan sitting next to me saw my fan banner.

           “Ooh, you like Johnny?” Their eyes sparkling in the bright fluorescent lights overhead.

           “Yeah, as much as I love them all, he’s my favorite. Who’s you’re favorite?”

           “Haechan, he’s so cute. But I also love all of them members too.” After that we got more friendly, names were swapped, and then we started talking about everything about the group. As time for the concert began grew closer the more my heart began to race, my palms became sweaty, and my stomach was in knots. Soon the lights dimmed, and the crowd thrummed with energy, light sticks turning on and the space changed into a green ocean.

           The screens on the stage flickered to life, beginning the VCR introduction. The lights flashed and there he was in all his glory, standing before me. The music played and the members came to life, moving as one before the crowd.

But he always stood out to me.

Smitten v.

              He had seen me during the concert and had someone come get me when it finished. Going through some ‘STAFF ONLY’ doors, and many turns later, I was in the dressing room waiting for the guys to finish going over the concert.

           Sitting, on my phone, still going through the concert tag on Twitter, I heard them coming from a mile away with their excited yells and laughs. The door opens and they all flood into the room, the sound following them in. He was the last one, of course. Eyes scanning the room, going from person to person trying to find something, someone—me.

           When our eyes met, it was as if the world going on around us had melted away, it was only him and me. It was perfect. Slowly, I rose from my seat and started to make my way to him, he was pushing through the people blocking us. When we got to the middle, he slowly, but surely, wrapped his arms around me. It was warm and whole, and I accepted it—eagerly. I buried my face into his chest—slightly heaving from the two-hour long concert, the sweat was felt on my cheek— and I smiled into it.

           “Hi, I missed you.” Quiet, we were, afraid that this moment could end in the next breath.

           “I missed you too.”  He kissed the top of my head, then rested his cheek there, I wanted him to stay there forever. But our reunion was stopped when the others joined in on the hug—turning into a dog-pile. I let it happen for a little while, but then it started to get hot, and they were all sweaty—so, so sweaty.

           “Guys…I can’t breathe anymore.”

           “You let Johnny hug you, so why can’t we.” Mark said from somewhere from the outside of the pile.

           “Because he’s my boyfriend, and ya’ll are gross and sweaty.” I squirm in Johnny’s arms, but none of them budged. “I’m going to die in here, aren’t I?” I whisper.

           “Probably, but at least I’ll die with you.” He whispers back.

           “No, you’re not, you Giraffe. You get fresh air and everything, while I’m down here in the depths of gross boy stank.” I resorted to whining, I’m not proud but I needed out of my prison.

           “Guys, you heard them, give ‘em some space. They’re right, you do stink.” He started pushing them away, chuckling.

           “Is that better, Baby?” He brushed my hair out of my face when I looked up at him.

           “Yes, Handsome. I can only handle one stinky boy right now.” His hug became crushing as he lifted me a few inches off the ground that left me squealing.

           “Stinky?!” Eyes wide. “I’m stinky?” He asked, voice raising a few decibels.

           “Big time.” Then, my life flashed before my eyes as he starts to rub his head all over my face. Gagging, I push his nasty ass away from me, but with his grip around me, he wasn’t going anywhere. A hidden smile on my face turns into a frown when he lifts his head up to look at me.

           “You’re gross. I don’t want to hug you anymore.” I push again, but that only encourages him. His hands shift from my back to my sides, then he starts to wiggle them over the covered skin.

           “Stop it! No, Johnny! Stop!” Forced laughs escaped as tears start to run down my face.

           “Then, take it back! Say you want to hug me!” He wasn’t letting up, if anything, he was picking up the pace.

           “Never! I told you that I don’t want to hug stinky boys!” My chest began to rise and fall at a rapid speed, air rushed into my lungs only for it to be ripped back out. There was no end in sight as one of his hands grasped my side to stop me from trying to twist out of his attack.

           “I’m not stopping until you say it AND give me a kiss!” A huge smile and crescent eyes are all I saw as he brought his face closer to mine, smile slinking into a smirk. “Be good, and listen, Baby.” Time to bring in the big guns.

           “Jaehyun! Help me! Please!” I whip my head around to not only look for my hopeful savior, but to hide my flushed cheeks from his comment. As fast as I called his name, two more arms wrapped around me, and pulled me from Johnny’s ruthless hold. I push off from Jaehyun; finally, away from the constant contact, I slowed my breathing down. Smoothing my hair down and running my sweaty hands down the front of my jeans, I stood up straight and looked at Johnny.

           “That was mean.” Lips: full on pout mode, Eyes: puppy dog mode engaged, Arms: crossed over one another. I was the picture-perfect example of how to get an apology. With his jaw dropped and eyes wide, Johnny was the perfect example of forming an apology.

           “Mean?! You said that you didn’t want to hug me anymore!” True.

           “But I was just joking. You didn’t have to rub your sweaty head on me, then tickle me.” Jaw snapped close, and eyes turning into soft brown ones, we were at a standstill. The others were lightly laughing at the scene going on in front of them, one seen many times before, but always with a different victor.

           “You hurt my feelings.” One step closer.

           “You hurt my nose and lungs” One step.

           “You were mean.” One step.

           “You were meaner.” Last step. We met in another hug; the winner was obvious.

           “God, they’re so whipped for each other.” Mark whisper to Jaehyun with an eye roll.

Telephone n.

           “I love you.”

           “I love you more.”

           “Not possible.”

           “I think it is, Johnny. I love you so much more than you love me. You fill up, like, 54% of my heart.” With a slight nod, I won this time.

           “Only 54%? Are you loving other people on the side?” A dramatic gasp and a flared hand placed on his chest caused me to laugh.

           “Of course, Loser. The rest of the boys take up about 6%, My mom has 10%, Ms. Jenkins and her cat has 7%, and I have the other 23% saved for a rainy day.” My cheeks began to hurt from smiling so much; one thing that I love about him is that no matter what, he can always make me smile.

           “Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret, Baby.” I slightly leaned forward, even though it did little to minimize the actual distance between us. My breath caught, as I strained my ears to hear him as he whispered.

           “I love you, 3000.” My face dropped, a chuckle bubbled out, turning into a laugh, then into a cackle, and finally, I was in bed with tears streaming down my face and I couldn’t catch my breath. Once I finally calm down, I looked at him with a serious face.

           “You are the love of my life.”

           “And you are the love of mine.”

           “I miss you.” Sigh.

           “I’ll be home soon.”

           “You’ll always come back, right? Back home? Back to me?”

           “Always.”

           That night, neither one of us hung up, content to still in a comfortable silence until he fell asleep. Then I soon followed, the sound of his breathing lulling me to sleep with one word on my mind.

           Always.

Voyage n.

           I watched the sun sink beneath the tall buildings. The sky had been graying all day and with the dark clouds rolling in, all the signs pointed to a storm.

           But there was going to be more than one storm tonight.

           Hours over the stove, wasted as the meal sits in the oven waiting to be eaten. Slowly, they lose their heat, mine steadily rose. The cars filter through the street below, reds, blues, blacks, but not the car I was waiting for. The rain falling on the street, coloring it dark; the hum of electricity fresh in the air as a flash of lightening lit up my face in the window. I looked around my dark apartment and felt empty. With a huff, I head to the bathroom, limbs stiff from sitting folded up on the couch, waiting. I looked at the mirror, sighed, turned, and left. Walking through the dark apartment, I heard thunder booming overhead, followed by a crack of lightening, brightening the room for a second, before being shrouded again.

           Four times. Now, five times, he had missed our date. There was no text, no call, no note. Nothing, there was nothing.

There was one thing: loneness.

There were two things: loneness and anger. Two things that don’t work well together. One eats at the mind, and the other eats at the soul.

           Hours passed, and I was still alone, sitting on the couch. Still waiting. That’s what this relationship was, waiting: waiting up for him to come back after practice, waiting for him to come home after months of being away, waiting for him to show up to dates, waiting for love. That was the hardest part, the love. Being away from each other as often as we are, you don’t feel loved—I don’t feel loved. Nights spent lying in bed waiting for him to hold me. Days spent waiting for any sign of life on his end. And the in between spent always waiting.

           It was a moonless night because of the storm, still pounding away. They say thunderstorms are caused by the Greek God, Zeus, king of the sky, when he’s angry. How I shared his rage tonight. How I wanted to scream at him, but no sound came out. Nothing came out. The door beeped, then opened; shoes kicked to the floor, and keys hung up on the rack. A sigh fell from the doorway. I looked at my watch, the glow threw shadows around the living room as it read: 11:23 p.m. Steps heard, a light clicked on, a name is called—my name. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

           My named echoed through the apartment, he wondered into the living room—light still off.

           “Baby, what are you doing sitting in the dark?” A chuckle falls from his lips, a sigh from mine.

           “Waiting.” My mouth too dry to put power behind it, so it came out as a whisper.

           “What?” He made his way closer to me, only halfway to the couch I was curled on.

           “Waiting.” It was a little louder this time.

           “Honey, speak up. You’re whispering.” He was almost in front of me know, I could smell his sweat mixing with his deodorant.

           “WAITING! I SAID I WAS WAITING FOR YOU!” A crash of thunder boomed in time with my declaration. He stood, staring at me like I had grown another head.

           “I’m sorry.” With my chest heaving, I pulled myself off the couch, making my way to leave the room to cool down. I passed him and he grabbed my arm, halting me. I turned to face him, his eyes moving quickly over me—searching for the reason of my outburst. A crack of lightening spilt the sky and lit his brown eyes that were wide with worry.

           “W-What’s wrong? What happened, Angel?” He grasped my hands and held them in between us. I scoffed, head shaking. Did he really forget? Something so important—a date—and he doesn’t even know what he did wrong? I let it go the first few times, but this—this tipped the scales.

           “You forgot.” I spoke, words filled with a venom that I could feel the burning at my tongue and throat, itching to get out. I stared at our connected hands, frustration filling me up, I could see it collect in the corner of my eyes. The wind started to slam against the windows, as another clap of thunder sounded.

            “Oh, Sweetheart. I am so sorry. I got hel—”

           “You got held up at practice.” I laughed, because of course he did. He always did. I was beginning to feel hot; I dropped his hands and crossed mine. He reached out for me, but I stepped away—needing space.

           “Darling—”

           “Stop with the nicknames, Johnny! Stop trying to defuse the situation!” I paced around the living room—still in the dark—trying to ease the anger. Johnny walked away to turn the light on; the room bathed in a hue of gold. He was wearing those sweatpants that fit him just right, and a black long sleeve; a tired look on his face, but his eyes were guarded—trying to read my fire-filled ones.  

           “There is no situation, I don’t see why it is such a big deal if I miss a date.” Annoyed—that’s what he was, he was annoyed with me. But the feelings I had, were worse.

“Oh? So, that’s how you feel about it? You don’t care about our dates? The only thing you seem to care about is work.” My back was turned, I didn’t want him to see me cry.

           “Are you fucking kidding me? The only—Wow. What is wrong with you?!” The level of his voice was rising—so was mine.

           “What’s wrong with me?! You have missed five dates, Johnny!” I turned around in time to see his eyes rolling. “No calls, no text, no heads up! I would have been fine, but I stood for hours over the stove cooking your favorite meal! I had set the table all nice, I got your favorite wine, your favorite candles, and your favorite music! But you just didn’t show up—too busy dancing with your friends—leaving me alone!” Hands thrown up in the air, I moved into a corner of the room.

           “Do you want to know what you sound like right now? You sound like a brat.” The word being spat out of his mouth. “You think I’m just singing and dancing all day?! I am working my ass off to make people happy! I work all day, and I just want to come home and sleep!” There it was, the guilt, beginning to build in my gut. “You knew what you signed up for going into this relationship, you knew that things weren’t going to be easy! But here you are, whining like a little bitch because I missed some dates!” The storm outside matched the storm inside, the loud rage was inescapable.

           “What did you just call me? A Bitch? I—Ok.” I ran my hands through my hair, I was boiling now, nothing was going to stop the war he just laid out. “I do know what I signed up for! But when you’re in a relationship, things go both ways, Johnny! I don’t think you recognize that! When was the last time you planned a date? When was the last time you went out of your way to do something nice? When was the last time you showed me you cared? I don’t remember, and after all of this, I doubt you do.”

           “Are we serious arguing over this?”

           “Don’t change the subject!”

           “We are seriously fighting over a date?! A DATE?!”

           “ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!” The windows rattled from the thunderous boom. The storm or the shout? That is something that will be unknown for the rest of time.

           “What is this really about? Are you jealous? Are you jealous at the fact that I do something I love? Are you jealous because you work a meaningless desk job?” My mouth dropped. One of my biggest regrets was not pursuing what I wanted to in college, I did what my parents wanted and that was shared in secret with him. Late night talks, quiet whispers so no one in the world could hear our confessions.

           “I can’t believe that’s what you think this is about! I know you love your job! I love seeing you happy because of it! I-I just can’t keep this up.” Tiredness just rolled over me as I was sitting down on the couch, and holding my head in my hands. The storm still raging outside.

           “This?” He sneered.

           “This! You! Coming here late every time you stay over! Dates spent here, your place, or some random restaurant at 10 at night! Not seeing you for weeks at a time! You’re never here anymore, Johnny! There’s always some excuse as to why you can’t come over. And sometimes there’s nothing at all!” The rain on the windows matched the tears on my face. “I’M SO LONELY, AND YOU DON’T EVEN CARE!” My chest heaves for a different reason as sobs echoed through the apartment. I spared a glance at him, the anger was gone, replaced with realization and sadness. His hands shook, eyes searching around the room, mouth slightly open, trying to find something—anything—to say. But the damage was done.

           An eternity had passed, but only mere minutes had. One question weighed on my mine. One that needed to be said. One that could change everything.

           “Do you even want this anymore?” My eyes shut, waiting for his response. But none came. When I opened them, he was standing in the doorway, mouth open, eyes frantic. With a sigh, I rose from the couch and headed to the door. I walked by him and when he didn’t say anything, I scoffed. I slipped my shoes on and unlocked the door.

           “Wh-Where are you going?” He sounded so small. My baby—no, not anymore. He may not have answered the question, but his silence did.

           “I don’t know.” It was like I took a backseat to the situation and I was now only watching it.

           “When are you coming back?” Opening the door was the easiest and hardest thing I had done all night.

           “I don’t know.”

           “I’m sorry.” I hummed in response, slipping out the door.

           I don’t know how long I walked for, but the moment I had stepped outside, I was soaked by the rain and guilt. It wasn’t cold though; it was surprisingly warm. I had shut my phone off after Johnny had left his 6th voicemail. I want to be alone, but my thoughts kept me company. The mind likes to bring up memories, I found, after a something like this. Mornings spent waking up to breakfast in bed with a loving kiss in between bites, soft pouts led to a forkful of food, and warm gazes fueled breakfast being forgotten for a little while. Beautiful flowers placed on my desk at work, with a dorky note attached to it; doorbells rang with deliveries of even more flowers when he was gone for months at a time. Date nights that came to an end with a slow dance in the living room as music circled us from some random playlist on his phone in his pocket, after a while, hands, and lips begin to wander, one pulling the other down the hall to the bedroom. Late nights shared in bed, hair slighted messed, hands tracing shapes onto skin, lips moving in hushed whispers, and eyes full of love. Sleepless, nightmare filled nights, glasses of water at my beckoned call, hugs were endless, and a soft voice always lulling me back to sleep.

           As I sat on the curb of some random street, crying, these memories showed me that he did care. Love is shown and spoken in different ways, and I was so focused on the verbal, rather than the actions. God, I was so stupid. Last week, he had made me lunch for work, he even took the time to cut the fruits into hearts.

           I raised my head up and looked towards the sky, rain hitting me in the face. I sighed, then reached into my pocket, and tried to turn on my phone, but a black screen stared back at me. This night couldn’t possibly even get worse. So, I stood up and tried to find a street sign to figure out where in the hell I was. I spotted one above a bookstore and figured that I was about a 30-minute walk away from my apartment. From the love of my life. Walking in soaking wet clothes and shoes in the rain is very much uncomfortable, but it had to be done to get back to my life.

           Street after street I grew closer, after some wrong turns and a very nice lady who gave me directions, I was almost home. As I waited at a crosswalk, I heard something being called from across the street. But I ignored it, it was most likely nothing, just a random noise from the city. When the light changed, I heard it again, this time sounding like my name, growing louder. I made it across the street when I heard it clearly, this time I looked to where the sound was coming from. Combing the streets, I saw brown hair, a black long-sleeve, and track pants that fit just right. I started down the sidewalk, tears forming in my eyes, and a smile on my face. His back was to me when I met him, so I ran into him at full force engulfing him in a hug, starting to sob.

           “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I was dumb and I know you love me.” He turned in my arms and wrapped his own around me. I looked up, his hair was wet, and his shirt was soaked. Tears fall down his face, his eyes sparkling. I raised a hand to his cheek, he pressed into the warmth, and I wiped away a tear, only for it to be replaced by the rain.

           “I’m so, so sorry, Johnny.” He took my hand and kissed my palm. “I-I was being selfish and I didn’t see all that you did for me. Can you forgive me?”

           “Always, Baby. I’m sorry that I made you feel like you weren’t loved, because I love you so much, and my heart broke when you said that.” He dropped his head into my neck as his shoulders shook with tears, his hands gripping the back of my shirt like I was going to disappear from his hold. “I let you down, you didn’t feel loved when all you were doing was giving me love. I wasn’t doing-I wasn’t being enough for you. I’m sorry.” He broke down, he’s sobs echoing into the night. We stayed like that, in the rain, until he started to hiccup, my hands soothing up and down his back when he calmed down. I took his face back into my hands and raised him so he could face me.

           “Look at me, Handsome. Please look at me.” When he opened his eyes, they were sparkling and red. I brushed his wet hair out of his face and put a smile on mine.

           “Johnny, you are enough for me. Mornings with breakfast in bed, surprise flowers when you’re away, lunches when your home, dances in the living room. You show me your love, and I appreciate everything you do for me.” I reach up to place kisses all over his face, making sure to cover every inch, I wanted him to feel my love.

           Here we stood, in the rain, in the middle of the city, staring into each other’s eyes. His hand raises up to hold my face, and I hold my breath. He leans in, slowly I close the gap. I melt into him; his lips were soft against mine—there was no rush. We broke apart, with rain falling onto us, I break away from his arms, grabbed his hand and walked towards the apartment. In the light of the city, hand in hand, we felt the love for each other again—in that moment he became my everything, and I wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

Wander v.

           The night was full of life during the walk we took in through the city. Lights glowing, shinning onto his beautiful face; with our hands entwined we made our way to some unknown destination. Papaya Acres Café. I laughed as I saw the café.

           “Do you remember that day? The one where we met? I was a mess; I was surprised that you even had the balls to ask me out on a date after I rubbed my snot into your sweatshirt.” In the moment, it was probably one of the most embarrassing times of my life. Now, it is a funny memory that gets laughs when we tell people how we met.

           “Of course, I did! It’s not every day you bump into an angel and make them cry, so I had to do something to make you smile again.” His hand squeezed mine as we entered the café, the bell chimed as he held the door open.

           “Why, thank you, kind sir.” A curtsy.

           “The pleasure is mine, my lady.” A bow. Followed by giggles.

           “Welcome to Papaya Acres. What can I get for you?”

           “Handsome, I’m going to the bathroom. Order for me?” With a nod, I turned and went into the bathroom. Soft jazz played through the green tiled room as I entered a stall. I wrung my hands into a paper towel and headed back into the café. Johnny was sitting at a table near the pick-up counter. My chaired squeaked when I pulled it back; wincing, I sat down.

           “I missed you.” His lips pouted, face sitting in his hands, eyes soft.

           “I was gone for like three minutes, Loser.” I laughed out.

           “I always miss you when you aren’t around.” I pulled one of his hands from his face and held it in my own, comparing the size difference. I hummed as I laced our fingers together.

           “I missed you too.” A playful smile appeared on my lips.

           “Here is your order.” I looked over and saw three cups? Huh, that’s weird. Maybe Johnny wanted to try a new drink or something.

           “Thank you. Have a good night.” He got up to pick up the drink tray, and I waited for him in the middle of the café. My hand got cold when he passed me my drink—I drink iced coffee, no matter the seasons—and his were now full with his two drinks. Putting my drink near his face, he took a sip from the yellow straw, humming in delight when he pulled away.

           “You got two drinks? What kind did you get?” When he told me, neither of which was something that I was going to try; when one of us orders something, the other automatically gets to have a taste of it, it’s a rule we made after many meals were pouted over because no one would share.

           Walking through the park down the street from the café, arms bumping as our laughs reverberated on the trees and buildings around us.

           “My dad knew I liked beans. So, he was like playing with beans. Then he dropped it, and then he dropped a rock. And then it slid, and then hot water started falling. And then, coffee.”

           “You actually think I believe that? Johnny, I’m not Mark.” I chuckled.

           “Hey, don’t be mean to Mark.” He chuckled back. He walked over to a trash can and tossed mine and the cup he had been nursing away, leaving the untouched cup in his grasp. He, now having a free hand, connected in the middle, brought our clasped hands to his face and placed a gentle kiss on my knuckles, his fingers running over my ring finger—something he had only started doing recently, but I paid no mind. I looked at his face, and he wore a serious expression—his thinking face: eyebrows furrowed, and lips pursed.

           “What are you thinking about, my love?” My free hand brushing away some hair that had fallen into his eyes. He sighed; a small smile played on his lips.

           “I was thinking about how it would look if you had a ring right here.” He pressed on my ring finger. I laughed with a smile. He looked at me with wide eyes; I looked at the cup in his hand, he was shaking.

           “Johnny? Honey, you’re shaking. Are you ok?” My hands cupping his face now, I searched for the reason for his sudden nerves. His eyes snap to mine as he takes my hands off his face, and he steps away. My heart is now in my throat, as my mind races to find out what was causing his anxiety. My hand, acting on its own, reaches out for him, but he only laughs with his head down.

           “You are truly something different, you know? You are the reason I get out of bed now; there are days when I don’t want to go to work, days were I just want to give up, but then there you are with your cute little texts, cheering me on, notes left from the last time you were at the dorm. When practice runs long and I can’t give anymore, you pop into my head, and then I remember that tonight you are waiting for me to come home—so I push ten times harder.” He cleared his throat, and shook the cup in his hands, a dull rattle followed. He swallowed. “I know it isn’t easy being in a relationship with me, the dates, the secrecy, but you are always there.” He brought his hand up to push away hair that wasn’t there. “God, this is hard.” He whispered, his hand moving to run down his face.

           “What’s hard?” He looks at me. He shook the cup again; the same rattle came from within it.

           “I want you to be there.”

           “What? I’m right here, Baby.” Now it was my turn to furrow my brows—in confusion.

           “I want you to be with me. For as long as you’ll let me. I want to grow old with you; have kids, have a family—maybe a dog. I want to dance with you in our home when we have gray hair and wrinkles.” I get it now. He chuckles. “You are so beautiful, and I just want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to make breakfast with you, I want to go grocery shopping with you, I want to do puzzles with you—”

           “I hate puzzles, Loser.”

           “That’s beside the point, don’t interrupt—it’s rude. Where was I?” The rattle started again.

           “You were listing things you wanted to do with me.”

           “Oh, thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I want to sit with you in the living room and just spend the day reading, I want to take you out and have photoshoots that I can post for everyone to see. I want you, Baby. I’ve never wanted anything so much.” I smile and move to close the distance.

            “Johnny Suh, are you asking me to marry you?” A rattle.

            “Well, duh. But now you ruined it.” He whined.

            “I didn’t ruin anything. Now, go ahead and ask me. Should I practice my surprised face first? Hold on, I need to warm up.” I started pulling faces with different sound effects and hand motions. He let out a long whine and stamped his feet a little.

           “Stop,” He drug out, “This is serious.” I cleared my throat, wiped my hands on my legs, and pushed my hair out of my face.

           “Of course,” Serious face, “Continue.”

           “I love you with my whole heart, you never stop running through my mind, you are magnetic. And I can’t help but to be draw to you.” He popped the lid on the coffee cup and stuck his hand in, pulling something into his fist. Then he got down on one knee. “My love. Will you marry me?”

           Remember when I said I don’t cry in public? Not only has this man made me a liar not once, or twice, but now three times. I guess, you could say that I wanted to make him sweat a little bit.

           “Let me see…” I tapped a finger on my chin as I began to walk around him. Adding to the act, I hummed and muttered, nodding, and shaking my head. When I got in front of him, I covered his hands in mine and stared into his eyes.

           “Of course.” I whispered. He jumped up, picked me up and spun me around. When he set me down, he took my hand and slipped the ring onto my finger. He kissed the ring, then me. There we were, in the park at 10 p.m., with our love in the air.

           “I love you.” Were the words we whispered for the rest of our lives.

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

Thank you for reading! I hope that you enjoyed it! Let me know what you thought!

I could possibly be interested in writing more of these if you guys like, doesn’t matter the length, member, or group. Just send in a word or words, member/group, and if you want it angsty or fluffly!

Thank you again!

[thurilostiel]

Do you mind talking about your Blind Oracle? She looks very interesting and beautiful!! I really love her design!!! 🥺🙏

Ok so first of all @cringeyvanillamilk @one-leaf-grimoire @shinyshammie cuz you all seemed interested in the OC of mine. Sooo.... *looks over at like 30 pages of written text for BO’s backstory and pet guides* I’ll start with most basic things, in a short list so that you can choose whenever to read all of this or just the summary.  Also Thank you for the name suggestions, they’re really fun and I had Lilith in there as well, but for like a slightly different meaning of the name. Name used by her: ‘Oracle’[after getting her grimoire], Thana Nickname given by Nozel, as she said she wasn’t given a name upon birth: Gulisa, and later Libi Full name: Lilith Razili Graddfa'r Ddraig Title: Blind Oracle Status: Of well respected Diamond’s Kingdom noble familly DOB: 20th of April Gender: Female Pronouns: She/Her Sexuality: [???] she might be ace, but that’s due to a trauma, still questioning Height: 164cm / ~5′4 feet Weight: 54kg / ~119 lb Eye colour: Deep forest Green -green that goes into grey’ish colour spectrum the farther from the center Hair lenght and colour: Long -while down they get past her shoulder blades, longest part goes till her waist- Dark brown with highlights [of slight reddish tones] Skin colour: Delicate carmely tan [typical Central EU skin tone] Special marks/scars: has lots of little scars on her arms and upper back, her eyes have a visible markings on the irises [will include pic later] Magic affinity/magic’s name[as the one written in the grimoire]: Light / Fallen Luster Magic type: Supportive summonings Favourites: food- fresh fruits, ice minties, a big meaty meal, mint ice cream drinks- fruit juice[apple and orange juices], water with frozen lemon/grapes and mint dos- hum melodies, take long walks with her companion[s], experiment with her eyes, making things for her pets and/or others dear to her don’ts- arguing, being descriminated, being in big crowds, having others play heroes for her [i.e. pretend there are robbers nearby and shove her inside an alley to ‘protect her’] Magic Knight Squad: She’s blind so she’s not that confident to get herself into this bussines Race: Half dragon (don’t @ me, you gave me this idea guys, you know where this came from) Personality: kind and shy pesimist, who always looks at the worst possible scenario to be prepared for anything she can think of. Known pets of hers : Emrys - an aftereffect of her father’s experiment, was with her from her 3rd birthday till May5th after her 18th birthday. Unidentified under-race of, what everyone assumed was, a wolf and fox mix, with low nobility mana levels, allowing him to use few ‘spells’ of flower magic. His favourite flower was a Pond Lily, and he loved to snack on freshly cought fishes. Died on May 5th. [need to finish his visuals, tho he’s inspired by a pet in a browser game Eldarya write down ‘Eldarya Rowtsya’ into google and this is really close to what Emrys look[ed] like] Mer - foundling Crystal Eagle of Oracle. He dropped out of a nest on top of a tree under which the girl was resting. He was a little hatchling then, not more than 2 weeks old, the smell of chocolate cookie brought him to such a brave act. Mer was too small to fly back up ot the nest, also Oracle hadn’t noticed that he’s an eagle untill about a month after he joined her on the adventure, and moved on right after giving him the rest of her cookie, making the smol birdie confused as he was never that far away form his nest and decided to stick to her. Mostly because she still got more cookies to feed him. He’s a little grumpy, but he helps her getting around on her travels. He loves chocolate cookies, corn, and ice minties. He’s getting mad really easily, while mad will refuse to eat and fly, instead will be stompin’ angrily on the ground so Oracle will hear him being mad. Meanings of names: Lilith - night monster, monster mother; also believed to be the name of first wife of Adam, a succub that brought fear to little children and pregnant ladies Razili - of Hebrew’s origins meaning ‘Lord’s secret’ Graddfa'r Ddraig - that’s just her father attempt to act human. ‘Dragon Scale’ in Welsh. Due to her mother’s pasing she wasn’t allowed to wear the noble familly name. Gulisa - Little[as in Weak] Heart [Georgian’s origins] Libi - My heart [Hebrew’s origins] Thana - Arabic name meaning ‘Death’ So the backstory goes a little like this: Lilith was taken out of her mother’s dead body about 2h after her death and put into the coffin on her mother’s chest as she was a silent one and not one of servants believed she’d still be alive. Her father was the one to react to her cries and open up the coffin to see his daughter trying to feed herself but getting nothing above few droplets of blood from now uncovered breasts. This caused her to be of a weak heart and health in general, would scratch easily, get exhausted from simple tasks... The father[a dragon and an idiot when it comes to human interactions] somewhat took care of her, not knowing what to do with babies he just stuck to giving her bottles with milk whenever she cried and if that didn’t work get a servant to change her daiper. Her real name was never used inside the castle, her father was using her [draconic version of] middle name or ‘shortenings’- he meant sweetheart but was saying weakheart, meant sweetie when saying hatchilng, you get the point- as everyone took her as a sign and incarnation of missfortune and death, thus called her Thana instead. Their explanation was that no child would be still alive while it’s own twin[brother] was born already half eaten by pests and parasites, and mother having her heart rotten due to a sickness. Last time she saw her father was around her 3rd birthday, month after that he was never seen by her, but they did met a few more times after Lilith was made blind. For years she was left to herself, only cared for in ways of giving her some food and preparing baths and clothes to wear. She wasn’t allowed to study things other than law and the ways of beautiful speach, yet she loved music. She missed her father dearly, but Emrys took up his place greatly, cuddling up to her whenever she was scared, hurt or cold. Her magic started showing around her 5th birthday and since then the elders started getting a bit suspicious. All was going normal, everyday lessons of law and how to speak in front of politicians, break for a meal, then the rest spent with Emrys on a walk around the gardens or in a library stealthy listening to the music lessons on the upper floors. Upon the day of her 15th birthday the elders took her to old ruins, where they marked her eyes with a ‘new emblem’ that was supposed to start a rebelius movement to throw the king from his throne, but after seeing Lilith crashing down with tears of blood and a new moon forming upon the sky they flew away in fear, leaving her there, unnecessarily taking away her sight from her. As the moon started forming, crimson fog hugged the dying girl, a single string of shimmering mana started leading the fog into the noble family castle. Before reaching the gates the unidentified experiment rushed into it and the fog moved back, leaving the castle alone for this day.  Emrys cuddled up to her and covered her with his own mana, focusing on her bloodshot eyes. The fog began cleansing itself, becoming shimmery, as if stardust created it. It later formed her grimoire, the book that would once be called Last Hope, as it’s light was powerful in means of healing and defending, but never there to harm, yet it’s magic was tricky and therefore never the same, no more was it to pleasantly sit back and observe the battle. There was a small peasant village near those ruins, they saw the great light and weird creatures, small circular beings surrounded by silvery feathers and hoops, and some creatures looked like those of stories of old times, the biggest shimmering creature resembled Pan, the great horror of forests. All the creatures dissapeared within a minute and peasants rushed to the ruins. Seeing the young girl in shambled yet definetly expensive clothing and tears of blood streaming down her face they called to her “Oracle! Oh great Blind Oracle! Send upon us a blessing of rain” and so her grimoire started glowing and send upon them the first spell “Moribound wish” which brought the clouds and flooded the noble castles of Diamond Kingdom for whole month. The people heard about an Oracle in old ruins and began coming to her, offering food and crops for a blessing or a prophecy. Her spell was limited, she oculdn’t use it however she wanted, and it called for rest quite often, so people became impatient, rude, envy of such power and ‘luxurious life’ of Oracle. Oracle was inside the ruins for more than 2 years, yet less than 4, she could never tell the time by herself, she always relayed on the good hearted people to tell her what time of the year it was.  Few peasants told the nobles about mysterious Oracle and the blessings she was able to perform- healing some of the elders, bringing rain and storms, and they decided to take her for their own happines. They took her from the ruins on May 5th, after a small battle that she decided to put against them, they killed Emrys as he tried to help her, and put Lilith inside the cage, forced a mask upon her face so they wouldn’t have to see the markings which some of the nobles recognised as the sign of rebelion. After half a year they got bored of her ‘miracles’ and let her go into the wild. She was somehow able to get into Clover Kingdom, her mask easily telling others that something was wrong with her.  But the little bird on her arm was an easy distraction, especialy with how many children would pile up just to be able to pet him or give him some food, so she was able to steal some food from the stands and sometimes money to survive living under the sky. One day she unfortunately tried to rob a Magic Knight Captain, of course not knowing who he was or what a Magic Knight was before that. Nozel Silva was his name, she made a note to remeber that name and upon hearing her explain why she tried to steal from him he actualy took great interest in her story. After a small series of questions which she answered truthfuly, greateful he wasn’t going to put her to jail, He made a decision to let her stay for a week in Silver Eagle HQ where she was able to create few little artifacts helpful in dungeons and unknown areas as well as develop a spell that allowed her to regain sight for a brief moment of 4 minutes. During the week he called her Gulisa, as she told she wasn’t given a name upon birth, and if she was it was long forgotten. Gulisa later turned to Libi which confused the girl, upon asking why he changed his mind he said that it may suit her better, but he’d still prefer to know her true name. Thanks to Nozel’s help she was able to gain money and buy herself a small house which the members of SE often visit after missions in which they found  new artifacts. Often times while practising her magic she’d find a dungeon and explore it with Mer. Few times while in Raquey she was stopped by some male who always asked her for a tea, and would tell her stories about folk-tale creatures, guardians of forests, oceans, skies and mountains, the devils and angels, the dragons and their homes of treasures. He presented himself by name ‘Lonan’ yet seems unsure each time he brings the name up, as if hesitating. He’d always pay for the tea and dessert and leave a package with crystals and some metal parts she’d been looking for. She still travels, but mostly around the borders of Clover and Heart Kingdoms. Searching for new artefacts that could maybe, just maybe, help her regain her sight. “The fact I’ve gotten used to being blind doesn’t mean I don’t want to see someone that I have but meet” “You have your spells don’t you?” “But they don’t allow me to see how I used to. Back then I saw people smiling, now when i use my spell you’re always frowning...” And that would be a brief summary of my OC. *Looks over at the pile of papers* Have I forgotten about something? EDIT: Forgot to add: She can’t fully see by using her spells, they allow her to see the basic outlines and few colours, they depend on her mood and levels of mana she got left, so she’s going blind 99% of time. Her mask was put onto her forcefuly and she was unable to take it down before going to Clover Kingdom. The nobles put her into the half-face mask and stiched it to her face, and she started wearing the ‘butterfly’ one after meeting with Nozel, it was first artifact she made in SE’s HQ. She knew the meaning of name Thana and that’s why she didn’t use it when she was free of elders’ will. Also I might need your opinion on this @thespiralgrimoire

[fuwafuwamedb]

Overworked (Romulus-Quirinus, Hakuno, Gudako)

There was a soft noise.

When one sat there, staring into space, watching the words on the computer screen begin to dance and blur a bit on the obnoxiously bright background; one could almost hear the sounds of being underwater. Each breath seemed to come with a very soft, very obvious plugged sound.

Then again, Gudako pulled her earbuds out, wincing a bit at the soft ‘pop’.

Her eyes drifted to Hakuno, seeing the two cans of alcohol nearby and her headset firmly in place. The red lights on the sides of her headphones and the soft sound of her voice made it obvious that she was recording more records for the Mages Association.

A hand brushed through her hair, Gudako’s mind blanking as she tried to figure out what was wrong here.

Maybe…

She glanced towards the television.

It seemed like they had started watching a video, but the game looked foreign and the two kings that were trying to play through it were frozen in place right now, both of them looking like they were about to get into a fistfight.

The question was: had they been watching this video or had Hakuno just stopped it to do her recordings?

“Hakuno…”

The woman glanced her way, all but smashing the space key before she clicked a button on her headphones that turned them off.

“The exercise ball is in the corner and the liquor was restocked.”

Headphones went back on. She clicked the space bar and resumed speaking.

Gudako looked next to her, looking over the chocolate container and the five cans of empty drinks near her.

Huh…

I don’t actually remember drinking these.

Then again, she didn’t remember doing much else other than this large audit and transfer to digital documents only. That had to mean they were close to finished, right?

They had to be reaching a point where all the documents were checked and the paperwork could be safely acid bathed and out of their hair…

“…What is this?”

Gudako and Hakuno both paused now, hearing that all too familiar voice.

Their mutual ah… Well- Their great Romulus-Quirinus was standing in the doorway, glancing between them both as they both sat in slouched and grotesque condition. Hair pinned up and out of the way, tanktops adorning both of them, with shorts that would have made anyone sob at the sight of; they both must have looked half dead.

At least, Hakuno did, poor girl.

“R-Romulus…” Hakuno pulled her headphones off, pausing her work again.

“Turn off the devices.”

The command was so stern, so level voiced. Gudako wasn’t even sure when she had turned off her computer, but it was all but tossed onto the table, knocking over a few of the cans.

Hakuno had a similar problem,

“Come here,” the god basically demanded of them both, crossing his arms over his rather nice chest.

Like pups, they went straight to him.

He took a second with each of them, pulling bands and clips from their hair. He ruffled Hakuno’s hair out first, shaking his head as he wiped at her cheeks and found the bags under her eyes persisting. The same process was mimicked painfully with her.

“When did you sleep last?”

“Sleep?”

Hakuno looked her way.

“Don’t look at me. It’s only Monday-“

“It’s Thursday,” Romulus told them both.

“Oh.” They both blinked, looking at one another.

They hadn’t…

“Let’s go.”

The man took them each by the hand, tugging them along. They had to flail behind him, awkwardly moving out of the way of servants and things in the halls as the man chastised them softly.

“To think you would both become so diligent to the point of this…”

They were diligent though.

“I cannot have you both succumbing to something as sad as fatigue.”

His chambers were opened, the golden waterfall and the fresh mist of his room, illuminated by a bright light near the ceiling that may as well have been the almighty sun. They could hear birds singing from the greenery hanging from the walls… wherever the world stopped in his room and the walls began. The gorgeous bed, with its bright and patterned azure sheets, came forth to them…

No, they’d walked.

“Hakuno,” Romulus pushed the girl onto the bed first. “Scoot to the other end. I will join you and Gudako may lay on my other side.”

He had to only give orders once.

The two of them pressed their cheeks to his chest, finding him laying upon his back and stroking their hair.

“Rest,” he murmured. “The gods have you now.”

“Thank you, Romu,” Gudako told him, turning to kiss his chest softly.

It seemed Hakuno had passed out. She must have, because she had no doubt in her mind that the woman would have followed her actions. Romulus pulled her up his person and pressed his lips to hers, humming at the feel of their lips together.

She watched those eyes gleam proudly, making her insides squirm and her face warm.

“Rest, my master.”

For him?

Anything.

[korpuskat]

Summary: He stands at your doorway like a vampire; he could push you out of the way, force his way into your home. He doesn’t. He stands and stares at you in the darkness, the last of the sunlight fading behind him until the brightest thing on your horizon is the reflection off white latex. There’s a tenseness to his shoulders. A head tilt- so very slowly to his right- is the only communication he gives you. Rating: Explicit (sexual content, Michael is Michael) WC: 10,828 Warnings: Lemon, threatening/controlling/inappropriate/intrusive behavior from Michael. >Chapter 1 >Chapter 2 >Chapter 3 >Chapter 4   >Chapter 5 >Chapter 6 >Chapter 7 >Epilogue

=====

The morning light slides through your blinds, but you’ve already been awake for hours. Sleepless again.  You lay in bed still, not even hunger willing you to get up just yet. It’s been three days- three days of guilt and anxiety and the endless pit of despair knowing what you’d done.

He was gone. Michael Myers who you had bathed and fed and tended to and wanted was gone. Gone with your kitchen knife, your bandages on his wounds. He’d wanted something from you. You suppose he’d gotten it. Why else would he turn on his heel and leave unless he had nothing else he wanted from you?

A bird singing outside your window drives you from your bed. It’s too chipper, too joyous, the sun too bright. Didn't the rest of the world know? You don’t bother changing, don’t bother brushing your teeth. Too-bitter coffee brings an artificial life to your bones, helps to break up the painful heaviness around your eyes. You do not think of the extra cup you had made three days ago, do not think of sipping coffee so serenely in the living room with him. You do not feel the empty ache in your chest for the lost relationship you had thought you had with a mysterious, masked stranger.

You make yourself watch the news. It’s penance, watching the woman with your staticky connection. Her lips are painted a perfect crimson as she recounts a string of murders the next town over. Gruesome, her lips form, vicious stabbing. The rest doesn’t matter.

You caused this.

You could’ve left him there in the forest and no one would’ve known. He'd be rot and bones and a bad memories. You’ve killed people now. All because you didn’t want to see him bleed out. Your stomach churns, self-hatred threatening to boil over.

You still don’t want him to bleed out.

He didn’t kill you. He thought about it- you knew well enough. The long moment in the kitchen when he had the knife pressed against you, the hatred and something else deep in his eyes. Some part of him wanted to drive the blade between your ribs. Something stopped him.

You want to know why.

Why? Why had he stayed in your house for so long when he killed everyone else? Why not leave as soon as he was patched up that first night? It haunts you. Had he wanted to kill you that night, too, when you’d woken to him in your room? You need to know.

You might never get the chance.

The police arrive. It’s not officer Windsor. A white man with dark stubble and a detective’s badge waits at your door, his uniform is pressed and clean, a long tan coat fends off the chilly air. He greets you with a stiff “Afternoon.” His eyes are blue-gray, perceptive and piercing, but they have no hold on you. Not like-

The detective is seasoned and dripping with saccharine-sweet words. He clears his throat, speaks with cloying deception. “We’re double checking on some information. Mind if we talk a while?” His voice sparks a pain in your head and you resist the urge to press the heels of your palms against your eyes. He can read people like cheap novels- the way he squints when he looks at you, taking quick glances at where your fingers pick at the hem of your shirt.

He’s reading you now. He knows you feel guilt, there’s a tightness around his face that betrays his doubt. He’s right, of course. You meet blue eyes and dare him to guess the extent of your crime. You have regrets- but you can't justify spending the rest of your life in jail. Can't justify betraying him, as much as you hate what he's done. You answer his questions, No I haven’t seen anything, and Yes, I heard about those murders. You’re too tired, too carefully holding onto your last thread of sanity to tell if you’re even remotely convincing.

Maybe he just thinks you’re in shock. Maybe you are.

A sickly sweet smile follows, curls over his face; It splits his cheeks, ruffles the dark remnants of a beard, shows too much teeth. Fear doesn’t even register to you, the detective is just annoying now. You long for the muted expressions you’d gotten so comfortable with. “Mind if I look around your property? Won’t take long.”

It doesn’t matter. You’d already scrubbed the blood from your floor, his mark from your underwear. Every trace of him in your house has been obliterated. You shrug and motion out towards a marker just before the trees. It’s old and worn down, flanked on each side by dilapidated fence posts that had collapsed long before you moved in. “My yard only goes that far. Mr. Morton owns everything else around here.”

The detective nods and wanders around for several minutes. You watch from your porch and drink your coffee, willing the pain between your eyes to cease. You don’t know what he hopes to find or why he was onto you to begin with, but you hope he gives up soon. Or just arrests you. The sooner this is over the better.

You look again to the woods, out towards where you’d first seen him, leaves wind-swept over his prone form. You wonder just how far from your house you had been when you’d found him. Would there still be a blood pool there? You hadn’t known who he was- you want to go back to that so badly. You took care of him as a good Samaritan. That wouldn’t stop the police from locking you up forever.

Good intentions and all that.

When the detective is done poking through your bushes, subtly peering through your windows, he circles back around to you. He smiles again- but you know he found nothing to be so happy about. “Call if you see anything.” He gives you a card, with his contact information in fancy, tiny, black font. “And try to get some sleep.”

You try for a grin, but from his grimace you don’t think you quite make it. He drives off and you’re left with the strange feeling of having to go back inside. It's not right to be in there. The knob turns and you almost expect to find him lurking in your shadows again, lingering just around the corner into the kitchen or living room. It's empty.

It should be comforting that you’re home alone. That you haven’t seen him since he left. There’s no strange man who stands in your bedroom, who presses his hand to your throat like he owns you.

You haven’t changed the locks. You look through the hall in vain hope to find white latex lurking peeking out from the laundry room, to find him standing, waiting at the end of your bed. Sitting in the comically small couch and watching television.

Somehow, it only makes the house feel lonely. Empty. Before it had been snug and cozy. You rip up the business card, feel the satisfying resistance of the paper and let it tumble away into an indecipherable pile of letters.

The news is still playing when you step into the living room, the anchor moving on to some story about gas prices. You don’t really care. But watching a screen is a good way to pass time, an easy pass to disengaging with reality, so you sit and you finish your drink and you wait. All you have now is time.

You sleep and dream of pale, white faces and the ringing of blades. Your mouth is dry. The TV drones on- a police procedural taking up the air time.  You blink, feel your eyes burn from the incomplete nap and get your bearings; it’s just after dark, which given November’s preference for short days, doesn’t mean much. The couch had left your legs numb from being bent to fit on it and you stumble into the kitchen, hissing when the numbness faded to pins and needles.

You turn on the water and cup your hands, drinking freely and pressing your cold fingers to the bags under your eyes. You'll need more coffee soon. The rushing water is nice to listen to- you close your eyes again, press your forehead to the faucet. You couldn’t sleep like this, standing nearly upright in your kitchen, but it’s nice to imagine. Pleasant sounds can’t help you. The knob squeaks as you turn off the tap. Nothing can help you except

A static fills your mind- and you know. Life springs back to your veins. You're frozen in place only a heartbeat. The blinds over your sink rattle- you grab at them, pop the thin metal out of place as you peer into the growing darkness. No, no, not there- Your heart races. You don’t know how but you know-

You twist the front door open, the light of your living room illuminating a long rectangle over your porch, the stairs, and out onto the yard. And at the very end of the yellow-white light are the tip of someone’s boots.

Michael stands just beyond the stairs; the light makes it to the edges of his toes and not one inch further. Your knife is gone. He’s empty handed- but you know better than to think him unarmed.

Anticipation vies with anxiety for correct reaction, both making you feel lightheaded, dizzy. It’s all you can do to stand in your doorway, to cling to the door itself. The prey instinct in your head screams out again. You won’t run. So you stare into the depths of his mask- completely hidden in the shadow and he steps forward. That electric fear starts up again- you force it down and watch as he climbs your porch’s stairs two at a time.

You field of vision narrows down to the wide expanse of blue fabric stained with something from your nightmares. You’d laundered it so nicely, getting rid of the worst of the bloodstains, only for him to get more. A long bright red streak is splashed from his right shoulder to his left hip. There’s larger stain in the fabric just above the waist, the blood soaked in deep and already dried- a slash in the coveralls where the fabric is frayed. It smells different when the blood is fresh. There’s no mistaking why he’s bloody this time. He is no victim, no sweet and strange old man in need of help.

Your eyes slide up him, taking in each splatter that was your own doing. Spots along his collar that you can’t imagine how they originated- and dotted over the left cheek of his mask. You can’t see him through the latex, but that itching, radiating power seeps through his clothes. Even covered in blood, that need to kill follows him.

He stands at your doorway like a vampire; he could push you out of the way, force his way into your home. He doesn’t. He stands and stares at you in the darkness, the last of the sunlight fading behind him until the brightest thing on your horizon is the reflection off white latex. There’s a tenseness to his shoulders. A head tilt- so very slowly to his right- is the only communication he gives you.

You should've run.

“Okay.” You step away from the door, holding the wood open for him. He looks at you- and you wonder what passes through his head. He must know you’re insane. You can’t explain it, either. His presence is unnerving, makes your breath catch as he steps into your home- but that bloodied slash on his abdomen concerns you. And that’s just the core of it, isn’t it? He’s covered in other people’s blood and you care first about his own.

The door closes behind him and before you can consider the consequences, your fingers dance along the frayed edges of the coveralls. You feel his inhale, his belly tightening against your fingertips. It’s a good feeling, the life under his skin-

It’s hard to reconcile; the joy you feel at knowing he’s okay enough to walk, and the disgust knowing what he’s doing- what he’s done. The guilt, that you let him do it. You look up to his mask, as though expecting anything other than the aged, warped latex and the heavy sounds of his breathing.

Your hand falls away, and again, you stare through the darkness of his eyes. The air between you prickles. You breathe out, “Guess I have to patch you up again?”

He leads you down the hallway. Something compels you to follow. You don’t understand why you can’t leave him- you have no sympathy for murderers,  no desire to associate with those who attack for no reason. And yet. You wring your hands.

He walks through your bedroom as if it were his, no hesitation, no interest in looking around this time. He stops in your bathroom. The shoes come off easy and he drops them to the side, sitting almost casually at the side of your tub to peel off his socks-

You suck in air through your teeth. He walks on it like its nothing. Bastard probably doesn’t feel pain. His right ankle is swollen and nearly glowing pink. You sink to your knees onto the bath mat- Michael tenses, but relaxes as you take his foot in hand. You roll up the hems of his pants leg, about halfway to his knee. If it hurts at all, he doesn’t show it.

You wish he would; you’d rather know and stop than hurt him. But you rotate his leg as best you can and hope you're gentle. “When did this happen?”

You look up, stupid enough to expect him to answer. Okay, try again: “A while ago?” You pause, “Recently?”

He still does not answer. His cooperation has disappeared with your knife. You frown and touch the skin; it’s warm. You don’t know near enough about soft tissue damage. “I need to look this up.” You start to stand-

He pushes you back down to you knees with only one hand. He catches your wrist and brings it up to the zipper of his coveralls . It’s tacky, your knuckles brushing a dampness to his shirt. Nausea fills your head, but Michael’s eyes, hidden in shadow, compel you. You drag the zipper down. The metallic noise is muffled, altered in the blood.

His bruises have healed considerably, his chest a mottled yellow-green, but a purple tinge remains to his lower ribs. He doesn’t move through it all. Your hands shake, but the confidence of repetition lets you push it off his shoulders. Because he’s sitting, the dirtied cloth of his coveralls pools at his waist. A sadness settles in your chest and you touch the brown bandage on his left shoulder. Underneath, the wound is messy and irritated. Of course, he hasn’t been caring for himself.

You peel the rest of the sleeve off his arm-  the bandage for the stab wound near his shoulder looks relatively clean, but the slash at his wrist is missing its bandage entirely. You frown, want to scold him despite his overwhelming presence in the air. The skin on either side of the half-picked scab is soft. You rub your thumb over it. It’s not right.

A murderer shouldn’t have skin so nice. You shouldn’t want to kiss his hand- dirty and blood-soaked as they are- so you look at his burns. They’re better than the last time you looked, the salve having set in deep. The least burned areas actually looked like skin again, with only minimal smooth scarring. You don’t think he cares about that, though.

You move to the other sleeve- and curse as you find an open wound. The coveralls peel away slow and thick- the blood already smeared on his arm coming away with the same texture as his clothing, dotted and lined down his bicep. The skin itself is jagged and ripped- You don’t have your kit with you- it’s out in the living room. You look around; one dark, unused hand towel sits on the corner of your bathroom sink. It’s not far, but-

Michael’s hand finds your wrist. His grasp is uncomfortable, but not yet painful. You know very well that could change. You don't know if whatever had stopped Michael from killing you before still stays his hand.

“I just want to get that towel.” You point at it with your as of yet free hand. “To clean this.”

The hand tightens, pulling a wince from you- the tiny bones of your wrist aching as he drags you back to the wet sleeve. “Michael,” you hardly breathe, “please.”

His hand stiffens, but does not hurt you. A sickening mix of horror and warmth spreads through your abdomen; if you weren’t so close, you might’ve missed the way the jumpsuit tightens around his waist, the heavy exhale that follows. it’s wrong. He likes that- you don’t know what part. Saying his name? Begging? Your pained look? Revulsion crawls on your skin. Despite whatever physical response his body gave, he doesn’t let go of your hands. You pull your lips tight and take hold of the bloodied fabric again. Only then does his grip loosen and fall away.

You pull it all the way off, over his wrist and ruined hand. The long, smooth burn also looked better- but very far from healed. It was simply too deep to get much done in the few days he was away- considering how little care he showed to his own wounds, you’d be surprised if it ever healed without your touch. The guilt returns and you wish so badly that you could go back.

His fingers are another matter. The bandage is filthy, covered in dirt and dried blood- as is his hand and the rest of the burns across his palm. You turn his hand in yours and find only the grime caught under his nails, the black stains of something you can’t identify. You hate him, but you hate yourself more- because underneath it all is that stupid, insufferable feeling of sadness. You wanted him to take care of himself- not so he’d leave you alone, but so he wouldn’t be hurt.

You peel away the bandages over the remains of his fingers- and thankfully find a perfect outline of the bandage beneath. His skin is untouched and clean in satisfying rectangles- the edges of which are still sticky from the tape. You grimace, but inspect the stumps themselves. There’s drainage- but it looks no different than the gunshot wound had before his latest escapade.

And finally, just above where the upper part of his coveralls gathered at his waist, you find a long slash- smooth like the knife wounds to his right arm. Fuck. It’s old. Entirely scabbed, dried blood twisted into the gray hairs that descend from his navel to somewhere below his belt line. You touch his skin there, his stomach flexes under your fingertips. That’s not good. His skin is warm to the touch, the scab yellowing at the edges, an unusual crust along the coagulated blood. It’s already closed, there’s not much you can do now- but your meager googling of infected wounds looked unpleasantly similar.

The new arm wound weeps blood, scarlet running smoothly down his arm. How long ago had he lost his knife?

You look to him, find his mask already peering down at you. Your hands rest idle in your lap.  What else he wants you to do is lost- with him sitting you can’t do much else, you’d already inspected and removed all his bandages. You needed your kit now-

Michael stands and hooks his fingers into the waist of the coveralls. You realize what he’s going to do as the cloth is already falling. Your cheeks burn. You avert your eyes, but it doesn’t stop what you’ve already seen. His cock is half-thickened, still velvety and soft-looking even as it twitches once, beginning to lift up. You want to touch him, to taste him. You can’t.

Won’t.

He waits- and you still don’t understand him. He could force you. You’re all too aware of that fact- that he could hold you down and do what he wants with you. Maybe he just likes to see the color in your cheeks or making you squirm. Would he use you, or make you writhe for him? The traitorous voice in the back of your head- the one you smother down at every chance whispers They’re not mutually exclusive. That brings a new wave of tingling heat between your legs.

He steps out of the coveralls- and steps into the tub, turning away from you. Blood splatters on the white porcelain, but you take your freedom. You gather his discarded clothing- but the burning gaze on you makes you hesitate before leaving the bathroom. “I’ll put these in the wash again. And I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Michael gives you no affirmation, but does not stop you as he turns the knobs for your shower.

You dump the clothes in the wash with just a touch too much detergent- and you stripped off your shirt. Blood had seeped into the cuffs, small drops marring the front. The November air crept into your laundry room, brought goosebumps down your arms, a familiar tightness to your nipples. It didn’t matter. You turned the machine on and, half-naked, moved back through the living room to get the restocked first aid kit you’d left on the coffee table (the empty plastic sack sat just under its legs, abandoned) and your phone. You’d hardly remembered to charge it- but you google quickly ankle sprain care.

The sound of rushing water makes you lift your head. You hope he remembers not to scrub. You read from the web page as you return to your room. The sound of the water changes- no longer running from the faucet but from the showerhead- the noise high pitched and more diffused. You need to wrap his foot in a good position. There’s a tightly wound compression wrap at the bottom of your red medical bag- that would have to do. Who knows if you could actually make Michael fucking Myers wear a compression wrap.

The sound of the water changes again- back to the heavy thumping of the tub faucet. You enter the bedroom- and from the still-open door to the bathroom, you know he’s not showering anymore. Your dresser is just out of line of sight from the bathroom, but it doesn’t stop you from grabbing the first top you see instead of searching for something better. It’s a tank top- which if you’re going to be cleaning up more of Michael’s wounds, it’s fine.

You grab the hand towel you’d seen and brace yourself. You’d hoped to find him testing the water; showering was fine with wounds like his. Not amazing with an open one, but not the worst. Instead, it seems he’s only rinsed himself under the showerhead- the worst of his grime already washed away, an actual flesh tone returning to his hands instead of the black-brown of dirt and old blood.

Instead, he lounges in your tub that’s too small even for you, and almost comical with how his uninjured leg is folded up, his knee poking out of the water, the injured right ankle extended over the edge of the porcelain, hanging somewhat uselessly. But more concerning: something is laid neatly against the wall in a warped pile of white latex, haloed by dark, dirty synthetic hair. You step into the bathroom- and look at him.

He’s found the stopper to your tub and it fills slowly, steam rising around him. You’d seen him nude before- he’d intentionally surprised you the last time you got him to bathe. It’s different now. Peril still lingers in the air, his working stormy eye glints dangerously beneath his eyelashes; a chill runs down your spine. You could leave him, let him handle himself.

You know what he wants- what he keeps wanting. You can’t understand it. But you want to. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t killed you. What choice do you really have? You wanted to know why and there's really only one option.

You scoot the bath mat flush to the side of the tub, already predicting spills onto the tile. You watch him as you return to your knees. It’s weird, being eye-level with him- so close to him without his mask. The last time…

Your neck burns in memory; ghostly teeth scrape so slightly against the column of your throat. You set the red bag aside and focus on the washcloth.

Michael follows you with his eyes- they’re cold and flat, something still unsated and hungry deep inside. The beast is quiet now, but its presence has not left. He holds you with his gaze- intensity alone bringing a wetness to your eyes. You can’t wash him if you don’t look away- so you break to the thin lines of his lips, surrounded by silver hair; it’s grown out some. Did it itch under the mask? You want so badly to know- his nose is crooked from a fight, the scar splits his cheek. You follow it like a map up to his milky eye, which still centers on you, unseeingly.

But under his eyes are heavy bags. You can’t distinguish how much of that is age and how much is exhaustion, but if the shape at the end of your bed for the two mornings he had been here was any suggestion, he must sleep very little. Has he slept at all since he was here?

You touch his cheek. Your finger slides perpendicular across the thin scar before you can understand what you’re doing. His stubble scratches at your hand.

Eyes bore into you. The predator lurks under his skin, hungry jaws waiting for you to venture too close. You look to his chest to center yourself- the still-running water rises slowly up to his ribs. The infected wound on his abdomen sinks beneath the surface, you want to scold him. You know he won't listen, won't give you more than a head tilt.

You turn off the water and dip the towel into the tub. The water’s already discolored. You start at his right hand. You’re careful, squeezing water over him like a shower before wiping- so very gently, not wanting to disturb the sealed scabs. The grime clings to his fingernails and cuticles, deep in the wrinkles and scars of his hands.

You move up his arm, your cleaning less hostagely and more reverent; you hold where no bruises mar his skin, you’re methodical in your approach, swiping each angle before moving on. You bite your lip at his shoulder. You don’t want to get another wound infected. Sweat sticks to his skin, so you rinse him- soaking your rag entirely and letting the water run freely over his chest and back. You’d don’t dare to rub too close to the delicate gunshot wound of his shoulder or the long, red line of the knife wound.

You move closer to his neck- and for a torturous moment, his jaw clenches. The emotionless cover of his face fades to a red hot second of suspicion. You’re too close to his throat- he knows how easy it is to kill, how delicate and thin the skin is; he knows the joys of crushing and cutting. The trust you’d formed is fragile, a single wavering thread-

You squeeze through the hot rag, into the breadth of his shoulder, just below the juncture of his neck. Whatever sharpness that remained in his body cracks, shatters under your touch. His eyes widen, brow raising in a pleasant surprise- before dipping back down. The tension bleeds from his jaw and his lips part softly as he exhales long and slow. Pride swells in you- and you squeeze at the back of his neck.

You feel the shudder across his body- the momentary mix of confusion and pleasure across his features before he can reign himself in. Had nobody ever rubbed his shoulders before? Sadness slips through your mind, and you twist, reach to fit both arms behind him. His guard comes up again. It doesn’t completely fall as you dig into his left shoulder with your thumb, rubbing along his spine. His eyes are cat-like, nearly closing as you massage his shoulders, working out long-forgotten knots and every sore place left from his hunt.

He doesn’t quite close his eyes, still watching you from under his lashes, but the devouring presence inside him retreats for the moment, and that’s good enough. You work down along his spine, pressing into each muscle and with each tired, slow dip of his eyelids, you truly wonder. Fifty-five years he’s lost. Sanitariums are not by any means the most social, the most growth-inspiring places. Especially ones from half a century ago. Had he… ever been touched like this?

Not just bathing- for surely he had to bathe somehow. You find a tense spot just below his sixth rib on the right side. You break it apart with your thumbs, work it back to smoothness. You’d tended to him when he woke up. Had anyone ever… been kind to him? Had they only seen the sister-killer?

You swallow. It’s what he was, though. A murderer. The hands you’ve washed and bandaged have taken life. He needed this care fifty years ago, not now. Still, you can't push the idea of what he would be like now if he'd had a loving touch.

You withdraw from behind him and he relaxes- truly, relaxes- back against the edge of the tub. You take his other hand and begin washing again. You clean his intact fingers with precision, scrubbing the dirt and filth and revealing how nice he could look. The wound on his hand was extensive- you only rinsed it, and carefully place his hand on his chest, out of the water.

With his torso soaking, you move down to his legs. You can get the hard one out of the way first- and lean over his extended right leg to reach the left. You still find no injuries to his legs- aside from the obvious sprain. You hold his thigh, dragging the cloth over the thick muscle there- lean and soft with age, but firm below the surface. You press into his flesh there, following down the lines of his thigh and are justly rewarded with the same long, slow exhale. You don’t dare venture all the way around his leg.

It doesn’t matter. You move down to his knee, begin to rub at his calf. His right hand slips down over his belly, settling between his thighs. You hesitate. You seek his eyes out again- and though they’re as soft as you’ve ever seen them, the threat lurks just beyond the surface.

You try not to look.

The incessant ache between your legs won’t let you ignore it entirely. You move to his right leg and start again at his thigh. And as you peer at the shape of his thighs and where they join to his hips- his fingers are wrapped around himself. He’s hard, just under the water line; it’s thicker than you expected and curves upwards with a touch of a lean to the right. He isn’t stroking it. The head is red and full, a soft, milky string floats just beyond it.

You’re disgusted.

You want him.

You realize your hands had stopped cleaning him of their own accord. You sneak a glance at his face again; he’s keeping hold of his damnable control. But you know he noticed your fascination- you hate yourself more. You clean his injured leg and take care with his calf not to agitate the joint. Not that you can tell if you do any damage- Michael might as well be a statue for how little he shows you. You begin to lean away-

He shows you more. His hips shift in the water, sending tiny waves through the tub- and even from where you sit, you can see. He still won’t stroke it. He just holds it, his fingers spread evenly along his skin. He stares at you. He wants you to look at him, but you don’t know what more he wants. If he would only talk-

No, you know what he wants in the end- what he’ll eventually take from you. But you don’t know what he expects you to do right now. You hold his foot in place as you dab at his swollen ankle. You stop after that. You bathed him. There was nothing left to do. Well.

The bottles at the corner of your shower draw your attention. You swallow thickly. That was too intimate. You couldn’t. He wouldn’t let you, you were sure- but your fingers itch at the idea of scrubbing shampoo into his hair, maybe even into the curls of his quickly growing beard.

You liked that idea more than you should.

His head tilts slowly, and you imagine the waves of his white beard soapy and bubbly. It draws one corner of your mouth up, you don’t bother hiding it from Michael’s view. It feels forbidden. Wrong. So you think of what that other Michael Myers might be like.

His eyes tighten and relax too fast to decipher. Was it curiosity at your odd smile? Anger? Arousal?

You look between his legs. He holds too tight- a stiffness to his fingers. Maybe he likes it like that- tight and slow- but you can’t help but feel there’s something else at hand. You shouldn’t. You joy fades- and you see him squeeze a little more. You wince, imagine the heavy pressure like that against yourself. It can't be enjoyable- no, there's something... wrong.

The water is tepid at best now and you dip your fingers in. His wrist is bonier than you expect, but you curl your fingers around his forearm. You meet his stormy eyes. They’re unreadable- clouded gray and seeing through you again. You wish he would speak to you, just to make this easier. You lick your lips, and pull on his wrist- hardly more than a suggestion. Your voice is low and quiet, pleading, “Michael.”

They focus on you. There’s a challenge behind his eyes now. You couldn’t make him stop, nobody would make Michael Myers do anything. You lick your lips again, breathe out slowly. You’ll lose this game either way.

The words are foreign in your ears, “I’ll help you.” Your exhale is shaky, “Just, let me bandage you first.” The black of his pupil swells, nearly consumes the blue-gray entirely. From parted lips, he inhales- you draw your hand out of the water. “I’ll put your clothes in the dryer, and then,” Your lip trembles, “I’ll help you.”

You were always going to lose this game. Might as well be on your own terms.

The laundry room is silent, long ago the washing machine played its jingle to a missing audience. You move the laundry over, not even checking if the blood had come free. Everything about you was shaking.

Could you do it?

You had to. There was something wrong about the way he’d touched himself- squeezing too tight. His knuckles had begun to blanch. Pressing his thumb down just below the head. Like he-

Like he wanted it to hurt.

Your hand hovers over the dial on your dryer. You don’t know what to do with that. Was he... trying to hold back? Trying to make it go away? Did he just like that? You can’t imagine what goes on in his mind- you can’t get a single word out of him, let alone understand how he ticks.

You don’t have a choice now. What makes Michael Myers do what he does is beyond your pay grade, but you were fairly sure lying or betrayal would not restore your place as favorite. Or whatever it was that had made him decide to haunt your house instead of gutting you.

You’re starting to think he just wants to fuck you. It wouldn’t be so bad if he were anyone else. You feel... something for him, something softer than you want to name for an infamous spree killer. But there’s still worse:

If all he wanted was to fuck you, would he kill you after?

At least then you’d know for sure what set you apart.

The dial turns with satisfying clicks. You couldn’t escape this now. The dryer starts.

You’d re-bandage him, and then you’d find out for sure.

Your stomach flips, you want to flee- and yet you think of gray eyes. There’s something captivating about him- for all the danger he embodies, the horrible deeds you can’t even think about, you want to know what his world is like. You want to understand how he could hold a knife to your ribs and decide not to kill you, but still return covered in someone else’s blood. Such a dark and terrible fascination.

There’s no more time to buy. You hold your breath and return to you room.

He’s not in the bathroom anymore. He sits, dripping wet, on the edge of your bed. His head is tipped down, staring into his hands and at the white latex mask. You blink, swallow hard and close the door behind you. You want to meet his eyes again, want another chance to decipher whatever he holds inside, but you can’t.

Shivers roll across your skin in waves, and you pass by him without peeking. At his face or anywhere else. It’d be too much- you’d vibrate right out of your body, break down crying and hysterical.

There’s a murderer in your house. You’re going to help him- help him-

You dig your fingernails into the harsh red material of the first aid kit’s bag. The white vinyl plus design is peeling and cracked. You want to pick off every speck until there’s nothing left. But you grab a fresh towel and turn.

He’s already watching you. Hungry, piercing- and cold. Your legs go numb- you nearly fall, catching yourself against the counter. He’ll devour you whole, leave nothing left- an empty void in the middle of your room, threatening to suck everything you’d ever known into the abyss that gazes back at you. He sets the mask beside him without breaking your connection.

You step forward, trusting your memory of the room to bring you to him. The only movement is how he turns to keep his eyes on you. You break away to open the kit and place it on the corner of the bed. You don’t have to look at him if you’re bandaging him. You start with the new slash to his arm; the warm water made the cut slow to close and it still weeps gently at the front. You can see the real shape of it now: a ripped, split-skin thing without the gentle tapers of Michael’s knife injuries, uneven enough to make it hard for the skin to meet together again. You can’t imagine what sort of weapon made such a wicked wound. You dot some antibiotic ointment on a rectangular bandage- and sigh in relief that it’s long enough.

His gunshot is the only other wound that’s still actively draining. You cut another gauze pad and remind yourself you need to check it tomorrow. You wouldn’t get him to go to the hospital, but at least you could keep his bandages clean.

You steal a glance at his cheek- and find the skin glue still holding his mouth together, turning grayer with the dead skin stuck around the edges. That was normal- you’re pretty sure, at least. Just like a scab, it would let go bit by bit when the wound had healed and shed a layer. You look away before you were trapped again.

His missing fingers were the only remaining wound that you worried about reopening or draining. His hand is pliant, when you pick it up, relaxed and neutral for you. Aside from the damage, his hands are rather nice; worn with age, but it seems time spent away from society kept his off hand uncalloused, the flesh of his palm soft and warm. You can’t even really fault the slowly closing burns. You know on his right hand there's a new roughness forming across his fingers, a tiny blister from years of disuse dissolving into a murderous rage of weaponry. You like this hand better.

With medical scissors you snip two more gauze pads into the same shape as before and tuck them carefully around the remains of the fingers, taping the gauze down and sealing the wound.

There’s one last thing to do. From the kit you dig out one pristine, tightly rolled, tan cloth. You close your eyes and sink down to your knees.

Don’t look at it, you whisper in your head, don’t look.

You’re trembling as you take his foot. It’s still warm around the joint and fat with swelling. “Might hurt,” you warn him. You shift his foot up into the correct position and unwind the compression wrap. You start it around his leg, a single loop stuck to itself, then form smooth alternating figure eights between calf and the sole of his foot. You want to look to his face- maybe you could tell pain in his eyes this time, but- don’t look up.

The wrap ends in a velcro strip, designed to stick anywhere on itself. You hold it for a minute, but try not to let the wrap loosen too much. Sticking it feels impossible; Michael has no other wounds that need attention. You waver-

Fingers thread through your hair. You gasp, struggle to breathe as they slide from the top of your skull down around your ear, down under your chin, warm against your skin. He doesn’t make you look up, just holds you there. Reminds you of your promise. You press the wrap down. Only then does he tip your chin. You pinch your eyes closed.

He waits, trails the odd callous on his thumb across the joint of your jaw. He waited forty years to escape, he’s not going anywhere now. He urges you up by the chin and you blindly follow. You shouldn’t trust him.

You make it up to your feet; your fingertips can just reach his knees. He traps you between them, shaking like a leaf in the wind- his hand under your chin the last connection to the world. His left hand finds the back of your still-clothed thigh. Three fingers trail up to the curve of your butt, cupping it in his palm. You whimper, slap a hand over your mouth in shame.

The hand leaves you chin, clamps vice-like around your wrist and you do cry out- and he hauls you forward. Your eyes snap open, your body folding, grabbing his shoulders to accommodate him pulling you up- onto his lap. His eyes catch yours, and you can’t look away.

Your legs are tucked neatly beneath you on either side of his thighs, parted wide enough you know he could touch you through the thin fabric if he wanted. For now, your pants and underwear protect you. But not entirely, his hands have wound up at your waist. The angle’s all wrong, but you feel him. Hot, hard, long against your belly. His cock is pressed upright between you you're so close. It twitches and you whimper, instinctively grabbing at his shoulders again- only in the back of your mind remembering to be careful of his wounds.

You want to look away. So close, you can see the layers and patterns in his blue-gray eye; cyan ringing the pupil, gray radiating out in splotches. The other eye is milky blue, glassed and unseeing- more wrinkles have formed around it than the other. And both are unreadable, deep and yet, empty, like a well that's long ago run dry. There’s no emotion betrayed, not a hint of empathy or compassion for your racing heart, the shivering of your spine, the burning tears that threaten to bud at the corners of your eyes.

You want to kiss him. It’d be almost normal- kissing was something normal people did. But he's too intense, too powerful. It’s too intimate- your core tingles, wants to know what he fingers would feel like. His left hand finds your hair. Nails scratch along your scalp so pleasantly- your eyes drift closed again.

He twists, your roots burn- eyes coming open with a startled gasp. He wants to be read now: the meaning is clear as he peers down his nose at you. He wants you to look at him.

The hand still at your waist slides up, a shiver making you flex against him as his palm pushes up your shirt as he moves, but keeps going. Through the tank, he cups your breast again. You squirm, the warmth of his skin soaking through the fabric. You didn’t have to see his face last time- didn't have to watch as he tips his head to watch as he pulls your shirt down. You can't help the weak gasp you give, can't help the way your thighs draw together at his sides when he looks back up to you and locks you back into his gaze.

His skin is burning. The heat of his palm does not dissuade the cool of the air from drawing your nipple into a bud.  Just the curve of his hand around your breast has you wanting to close your eyes again- and is rewarded with a warning tug at your hair. He squeezes so gently at first, testing the softness of your flesh- before there’s a near imperceptible glint to his eyes, the smallest tightening of his brow. Fingers dig in, repeating the same action he had before, drawing from your chest outward- each of his fingers catching on the stiff peak.

Your mouth opens in a muted cry. He never looks away, doesn't return to admire your chest in the way men do, doesn't stop to see what he’s doing. He traps your nipple between that oddly calloused thumb and forefinger. And just holds it there for a long moment.

A need has settled need inside, thick and aching. You don’t want it- and yet your legs hold close to his sides, hips trembling of their own accord. You squirm in his grasp which only makes him tug softly at your sensitive nipple. It draws a whine from you, the shocked inhale pulling at it again. You want him to stop, to get it over with, to say something; you want him to touch you. Instead he sits there, your nipple pinched so delicately- waiting.

“Michael,” your voice is hoarser than you expected, husky and close to breaking. “Please.”

The grasp in your hair tightens, you wince- and he pulls your head back. You gasp, sputter, stare up at your ceiling and see gray moving before you. His short hair rubs against your cheek- and you scream. Pain lances through your shoulder, his fingers rolling your nipple. You dig your fingernails into his back, scraping across what you can reach.

His teeth dig deeper, and there’s nothing the hand on your chest can do to distract you. You hit weakly at his side- he kills people- he fucking kills people- he could rip out your fucking throat. Leave you to bleed out across him, that’s how you’d help him. He was only here to drag out killing you and-

He lets go. You cry, hot breath panting over your shoulder, his tongue slipping out and dancing along your skin. Blood beads to the surface and he chases it, drinking it down before sinking his teeth in again. He huffs against you, his fingers leaving your chest to grab behind you. He digs five bruises into your ass and pulls you forward again- his hips lifting against your stomach.

He doesn’t moan. He pants and sighs and huffs, but utters no vocalization as he grinds against your stomach, bites into your neck, just below your ear. You tremble and hang on for dear life, clinging to Michael's broad shoulders. When you cup the back of his head, he nips your chin, almost purring. He pulls back long enough to admire the art he’s made of your skin; he’s half-lidded, his lips parted- and the silver-white of his beard shines crimson.  His grasp on your hair adjusts and he’s attacking the other side of your neck. Teeth scrape down your throat, before he bites just below your clavicle.

His hips roll against you again and you thank the small mercies, that you don’t have to look at his cock with your head wrenched so far back. You wouldn’t be able to handle it- because despite the agony his mouth brings you, the warmth between your legs lingers. His cock presses against you and you can feel him, feel the size of him so close to where you truly need it. Your body just thinks he’s rough- that he likes to leave marks. The thought alone has your thighs clenching together again; you’ll be covered in bruises and bite marks well above the collar to even modest sweaters. He is marking you.

You tremble and fight the urge to slip your hand between your bodies to give yourself some relief.

All at once, he stops. The rolls of his hips cease- and you hate how much of the motion between you had been your own doing, your own futile attempt to find stimulation where there was none. His breath is hot on your neck as he turns and gives a nip- dragging a thin stretch of skin between his teeth as he pulls away.

He stops panting before he even comes back into view. Aside from the pink to his cheeks, the swelling of his lips, and the empty black void of his pupils, it would be hard to tell what he’d been doing. The scarlet stain across his mouth is more telling. His hand in your hair loosens and you peek down. The damage itself is too high, but the thin rivulets of diluted blood and saliva pooling just behind your clavicles, the errant brushes and smears from his beard- not unlike a painter’s- tell you enough.

He could’ve ripped your throat out. The hand leaves your ass- and you’re aware of just how hard he’d been holding you. Michael’s fingers dance along the long expanse of your throat, tracing each sensitive spot he’d left in his wake. Admiring his work.

His hands leave and grab the backs of your thighs. You startle, grab at his shoulders again just in time for him to lift you. He stands, seemingly unbothered by your weight, and sets you down on your feet. Blood rushes in- and you weren’t even aware your legs had fallen asleep. He lets go, and without his support you sink back onto the edge of the mattress.

He’s nude. The idea comes unbidden and finally, finally you can press your thighs together, seek rudimentary stimulation to relieve the ache. You can’t imagine what he wants- he could’ve cum how he was before, biting at you and thrusting against your stomach. But he looks down at you- if there’s any clues to his thoughts, you can’t piece them together through the heavy fog of pain and fear and arousal. He’s nude, and his fingers catch the dark hair of the mask still set on the bed- and stalks out of your bedroom.

You’d never realized just how quiet he could be.

It takes a moment to process. Michael has left you, hard and unfinished (and so were you, but you… couldn’t). And he was hard, so very hard and you want. You look to your shirt- and find a cooling wet spot smeared just below your navel. Had he been close, or was he simply that eager? Both options have your thighs shaking, one traitorous hand slipping between to press against yourself.

You needed to calm down. You needed to calm down so, so much because you can’t do this. He wasn’t killing you, for whatever reason- which was apparently something more complicated than needing something to fuck. But your attraction to him is so… broken. So wrong and taboo and god, you could see the coldness in his eyes (when you can even see his eyes). He’s evil. And you want to feel his fingers probing inside you- they’d get so deep, they’d absolutely fill you with how big they are- instead of just using you as leverage against his dick.

You grind the heel of your palm against your clit. You’d get yourself off later. Not now. Not with him.

The door opens again. You pull your hand free.

His face is gone, as is his body.

You blink and stare into the empty eyeholes of the mask once more. His head is tipped slightly downward and you suspect he saw what you had been doing. His coveralls are wrinkled, but mostly clean. He crosses the room in easy, measured strides. Heat radiates off him. The dryer had gone off.

His left hand catches under your chin- just as he had done before. You expect him to tilt your face up to look at him, but instead find panic in your veins as he closes his hand around your throat. It’s not a threat- it’s a reminder. You work with him, let Michael push you down on the bed, only half laying on it- everything below your thighs hanging over the edge.

He stands over you, straddles you across your stomach, and presses one knee to the mattress- over your forearm. He adjusts and traps your other arm in the same way. You lie very still, staring up into the cracked, expressionless latex. Even holding you so close and letting you see his face so intimately, did he really prefer the mask? You guess he was done with his mouth.

He holds you still with his hand pinned to your neck. With the right-

He pulls the zipper down again. He withdraws himself, and you have no choice but to look with him just above you. Michael is already a large man, and his cock is scaled to proportion. With him above you, he wraps his fingers around the shaft, stroking himself in one long, tight stroke. Blood pushes to the tip, darkening into a full red, a shiny drop of precum beading. You whimper, head hurting from how tight your brow knits together.

Your arms are trapped at your sides, just under the backs of his thighs. You can't even push him away. A squeeze against your jugular reminds you to keep your eyes open. You focus on his mask, on the deep-set pain of your shoulders and neck, agitated by his grasp.

“Michael.” His fingers tighten- a nail scratching at a new sore spot has you wincing. He pulls faster, the rasping sound of skin on skin so close. Pants come quickly under the mask- and you want to see his face again. It’s all wrong. You shouldn’t want to see those cold, empty eyes or the blood lingering in his beard- what did he look like now? Would his gaze be clouded and far off, does he bite his lips?

It’s hard to breathe with his weight on your ribs. You have just enough range to press your fingers between your legs. The need doesn’t abate- burning hot under your touch. It should be him, should be his rough, exploratory touch. Michael’s hand twists under the head- and his legs twitch. A noise muffled under the mask-

His cock twitches- the hand at your throat tightens again. You pinch your eyes closed.

Your throat burns and warmth splashes over your chest, something hits your chin. Air whistles through the nose holes of the mask, something wet slides along the side of your throat. Your bite wounds sting, set alight by- by-

You dare to open your eyes again. His hand slides smooth across his cock, slick and shiny with cum, more still leaking from the tip. Through it all, he doesn’t stop, hips rocking into his palm. Milky splatter sits between your breasts and higher, beyond where you can see. It cools quickly, turning tacky and strange against your skin, stinging harshly.

Michael sighs, long and low, and finally his wrist slows and stops. His chest heaves, the mask tilts back and you can see just a touch more of his neck as it rides up. The burn around his neck has paled, and you watch how his neck moves as he breathes.

You shiver, mouth hanging open as the heat of your skin dissipates. Your right breast is still out, the nipple pulled tight. Michael pants- and finally looks down to you. The mask is blank, betrays nothing of the face underneath- and it sweeps over your face. You feel the tears caught at your lashes, the blush heavy on your cheeks- and who knows what he’s done to your neck. Blood and spit and cum drying on your skin.

His hand loosens finally, the corners of your vision returning in waves. On your belly, just past the end of your sternum, his cock softens and smears across your skin. You feel disgusting- and you need to take care of your neck. Fuck, they were going to get infected- Michael’s incessant lapping and sucking had surely made you sick, if his cum settling over your neck hadn’t. And that was very quickly becoming itchy and uncomfortable, you needed to clean up so badly.

You pull at your arms, just trying to get Michael’s attention so he’d move on. He’d bitten and played with you, even finished himself on you- he had to be done now. You’d fulfilled your part.

The mask stared down at you, so gently canted off to his right side. His chest still heaves in deep, slow breaths. His fingers trace across your skin, reverent and silent, the hand at your neck making you wince as he touches something sensitive.

You try shifting again, and this time tap at his butt. You just needed him off- “I need to clean up.” You say, voice harsh and strange in your throat.

He still doesn’t move. And to think you were sure he was past this belligerently uncooperative stage and onto something at least a little more engaging than his unresponsive staring. You move, twisting until your arm begins to slide under you- even though it makes you arch up against him,  you free one arm. With the extra space, the other arm comes out easier.

You raise your hands to inspect the damage at your throat- he’s fast. The shape before you catches your wrists, curls forward over you to push them into the bed. His grip is painfully tight, huge hands squeezing the delicate bones of your wrists. His breathing is slow and steady again, the darkness behind the mask too heavy to understand what he wants from you.

He squeezes until you’re gritting your teeth, lashing under his weight, tossing your head back and forth- and above you, the latex creaks as he tips his head. You blink away tears, real distress taking root deep inside. There’s a hot moment where you think he won’t stop, that’s all he needed after all. He'll snap your wrists and then your neck. And as your eyes begin to widen, your jaw going slack, the first inhale for a scream catching in your chest-

His grasp loosens again. Barely holding on, the mask swivels to the other side. He presses your wrists to the bed once more- and you take the hint. When he lets go of your sore wrists entirely, you don’t move. Michael tucks his cock away, not bothering to clean up at all. He hovers there, still half-sitting on your stomach, the bed dipped under his one knee on the bed.

You stare up at him. The angle only emphasizes his height, the power he holds over you- physical or otherwise. The heat still has not left your pants, despite the real pain that lingers in your wrists and neck. It’s hardly different than him almost choking you out the second day he was here, you remind yourself.

You hate what he does to you, you hate yourself. Fear and arousal and pain leave you dazed and all you can do is fixate on how tall he is, the width of his shoulders, the scars that hide beneath thick, blue cloth. You wish he was anyone else and more than anything in the world you wish he would touch you.

Instead you’re stuck, hips pinned under his, covered in his cum. He steps back, slides off the bed, still looking down at his handiwork. The need inside you feels monumental, a sickly slickness slipping into your underwear. Touch me you want to scream. If he just did it, without you having to focus on your useless conflict-

If you could just know what it was like,

Hands settle at your hips, warm and slow and oddly delicate. Hope burns inside you and yet-

Michael does not strike you as particularly giving. Unless he could get hard again, doubt overtook your mind. For good reason. His hands turn hard- but not malicious. He holds you- and hefts you up into his arms. You squeal in surprise, your arms coming around Michael’s neck again as he rounds the corner of your bed, and supporting your weight with only one arm, peels back the covers to your messy bed.

You tremble, unsure. He was comfortable jerking off onto you while sitting above you, but wants you in bed? He sits with you still tucked to his chest- and scoots into your bed. He lies down flat on his back, fully dressed in his coveralls and mask, and pulls you, still curled onto one side, against his chest. He reaches with one hand and drags the blankets back up, awkwardly pooled around you.

And then, he just lies there. His breathing even and slow, and you can’t tell if he looks to the ceiling or to you. You frown, more confused than anything. Your skin is still sticky, things you don’t want to think about flaking off each time you turned your head. And worse, the liquid need rooted deep inside still lurks- and you can’t, just can’t, deal with it here. You push against him to sit up- and huge hands settle on your lower back, just above your hips.

His fingers- asymmetrical, it’s so strange- press into your skin, sliding just under your thin shirt. He says nothing, does not move in any other way. You lick your lips and press your luck. You push back further, nearly making it upright-

Before his hands are vices around you, forcing you back down with unquestionable authority.

“Michael,” You complain, but only get the pointed flexing of his hands in response. You sigh- and shift on him. Pain sinks around his fingertips and you can nearly feel his eyes narrowing. “At least let me move? Your hip is biting into my side…”

A long moment passes, before he sighs, a puff of warm air sliding under the mask. His hands relax again. You resettle over him, settling onto your stomach- if he wanted you on top of him for the night, it was your best bet for sleeping soundly. You end up almost straddling one thigh, with your left leg between his- but he’s too tall and you settle with your head just below the white latex of the masks’ chin.  

You want to take a bath. And yet… your ear presses against his chest. Warmth radiates through his clothing into you. His heart is strong, steady- an endless march song that’s all too easy to get lost in. His palms are nearly burning against your skin, and yet without the dangerous threat to them, there’s something else.

He kills people. But he won’t kill you. The train of thought alone makes alarms ring in your skull. There’s a tenderness- or at least as tender as Michael Myers can seemingly manage for as emotionally disconnected as he is. Or was that all you projecting onto him? There had to be something genuine inside him. He’d come back. Maybe... you were just useful.

You close your eyes and count his heartbeats, the rise of his chest, the soft, muffled noise of his exhale. He is a mystery, and yet inside him his heart beats on like everyone else. Rhythmic and continuous, lulling you down into the easy hold of sleep.

=====

Next Chapter

If you like my writing, please consider leaving me a tip ❤️

[lovemesomesurveys]

January (Month Survey #1)

Warning: These surveys are long. Take at your own risk.

National Days

Jan 1. National Hangover Day: What’s the worst hangover that you’ve ever had? The one after the last night I ever drank. That night was horrible. I got so sick and it was embarrassing and ugh it just ended up ruining the rest of the night. I still trip out because I honestly don’t recall drinking that much, but I got really drunk. I guess the drinking games made me lose track or something. Thank goodness for my best friend at the time who took care of me. I couldn’t really sleep that night cause I got sick a few times and just felt like shit and the rest of the day I just did absolutely nothing. I didn’t even want to look at alcohol for awhile.

National Bloody Mary Day: Do you believe in the Bloody Mary folklore? No, but I still don’t mess around with that kind of stuff.

Euro Day: Do you have any Euros? No.

National Black Eyed Peas Day: Do you like listening to the Black Eyed Peas? How about eating them? The group was cool, I liked a few of their songs. I’ve never had actual black eyed peas.

Apple Gifting Day: What’s your favorite type of apple – red, yellow, or green? I’m not an apple gal. Well, when it comes to the fruit. I love Apple products haha.

New Year’s Day: How did you celebrate New Year’s? My mom had to work until 11PM and my brother was at a friend’s house and was spending the night, so it was just my dad and I. We got takeout and watched the New Year’s Eve shows, but he ended up falling asleep a couple hours before midnight. My mom got home just in time to watch some of the New Year’s Eve shows before midnight and then we watched the ball drop, so at least I wasn’t alone. My dad slept right through it lol. It was a very chill night.

Jan 2. National Buffet Day: Where’s the best buffet in your area? The only buffet I liked was Mongolian BBQ. You put your noodles, meats, veggies, toppings, and sauces yourself and then they cooked it right in front of you on a big, round, super hot grill, so I felt comfortable consuming it. Other buffets where the food is brought out for everyone to have access to... yeah, no thanks. 

World Introvert Day: Are you more of an introvert or an extrovert? Oh, I’m an introvert all the way.

Swiss Cheese Day: What meat do you typically eat Swiss cheese with? Ya know, I don’t think I’ve ever had Swiss cheese. 

National Cream Puff Day: Do you like cream puffs? Have you ever made them before? Yeah, they’re good. I’ve never made them, I just bought them from the frozen food section at the store lol.

Run Up the Flagpole and See if Anyone Salutes Day: Have you ever tried to climb a flagpole before? No. I couldn’t do that even if for some reason I wanted to.

National Personal Trainer Awareness Day: Do you have a personal trainer? Nope.

National Science Fiction Day: What’s the last science-fiction novel you’ve read? The Hunger Games series several years ago.

Happy Mew Year For Cats Day: Do you prefer cats or dogs? Why? I’m a dog person, personally. I’ve always had dogs and I just vibe more with them. Mine have all been so loving and sweet and silly and pure.

National Pet Travel Safety Day: Does your pet do well during car rides, or do they hate it? She doesn’t like them. 

Jan 3. National Drinking Straw Day: Do you use drinking straws at home, or only out at restaurants? I use a straw with everything I drink.

Festival of Sleep Day: Do you enjoy sleeping, or do you spend most of your time awake? I love sleeping.

Humiliation Day: When’s the last time you were humiliated? Why? Let’s not get into that.

National Chocolate-Covered Cherry Day: Do you prefer chocolate-covered cherries or chocolate-covered strawberries more? Strawberries. 

National Fruitcake Toss Day: Do you like fruitcake? No. It just doesn’t even look appealing to me.

J.R.R. Tolkien Day: Have you read the Lord of the Rings series? What did you think of it? Nope. I’ve never seen the movies, ether. Just wasn’t of any interest to me.

Jan 4. National Missouri Day: Do you know anyone who comes from Missouri? Well, not from there, but my dad lived there growing up and I have family out there now.

National Spaghetti Day: Is spaghetti one of your favorite Italian dishes? Yessss. Spaghetti and meatballs, specifically. 

National Trivia Day: Do you enjoy playing trivia games? Any in particular? Yeah, those like Trivial Pursuit and Scene It.

World Braille Day: Do you know anyone who can read Braille? No.

World Hypnotism Day: Have you ever felt hypnotized before? Can you describe it? No. 

Jan 5. National Screenwriters Day: Have you ever written a play or some other sort of script before? Nope. I’ve written short stories and fan fiction, though.

National Whipped Cream Day: Have you ever used whipped cream for sexual purposes? Nope.

National Keto Day: Do you or anyone you know follow a ketogenic diet? Not that I know of.

National Bird Day: What’s your favorite type of bird? Hummingbirds are neat.

Jan 6. National Thank God It’s Monday Day: Do you actually prefer Mondays to Fridays? Why or why not? The days are all the same to me now, but back when I was in school I always dreaded Mondays.

The Epiphany (Three Kings Day): Do you celebrate this holiday? No. I had to Google that because I had never heard of it before.

National Bean Day: What’s your favorite type of bean? (ie: baked, lima, green, etc) Refried beans.

National Technology Day: What’s your favorite piece of technology that you own? My laptop and phone.

National Shortbread Day: Have you ever eaten those Trefoil  Girl Scout shortbread cookies? Yep. I love shortbread cookies.

National Cuddle Up Day: Who’s the best cuddler you know? My doggo. 

Jan 7. National Bobblehead Day: Do you own any bobbleheads? Of who? I have a Chewbacca one.

National Tempura Day: Have you ever tried tempura before? Did you like it? I’ve had chicken and vegetable tempura, which is really good. 

Old Rock Day: Would you be interested in digging for fossils? Only when playing Animal Crossing: New Horizons haha. That’s part of my character’s daily routine.

Jan 8. National Argyle Day: Do you own any clothing with argyle print? Nope.

National Bubble Bath Day: When’s the last time you took a bubble bath? When I was a kid.

Male Watcher’s Day: Do you like to people-watch? It can be interesting. 

National Take the Stairs Day: Do you prefer the stairs or the elevator? I can only take the elevator.

National English Toffee Day: Do you enjoy eating toffee? I’ve had more toffee flavored things than actual toffee, but yeah.

Elvis Presley’s Birthday: What is your favorite Elvis Presley song? Can’t Help Falling in Love.

National Joygerm Day: How do you treat people with kindness? Do you typically have a positive attitude about things? I try to be understanding and openminded, I try to be a good listener, I don’t put people down or belittle others, I try not to be rude or impolite, and I try to help if I can. I don’t have a positive outlook when it comes to myself, but I can for others. We could even have the same issue and I’ll be able to see it differently for them than I do for myself. I’m forgiving when it comes to others and I’ll see the good in them, truly believing it, but I beat myself up all the time. 

National Winter Skin Relief Day: What do you treat your skin/lips with, when they are chapped? Ugh, I have that issue in the summer as well it’s so annoying. Anyway, I just use lotion and chapstick. I don’t use it as often as I should, though, for some reason. It would definitely help. I should also use a face moisturizer. 

Jan 9. National Apricot Day: Do you prefer apricots dried, in fresh fruit form, or the canned version? I don’t like apricots at all.

National Law Enforcement Appreciation Day: Do you have issues with people of authority? I have an issue with the bad ones who abuse their power.

National Static Electricity Day: When’s the last time your hair succumbed to static electricity? Hmm. I don’t recall. I remember doing that with a balloon when I was a kid, though lol.

National Balloon Ascension Day: Have you ever released balloons purposefully into the air? No, that was so sad whenever it happened. RIP to all the balloons I’ve ever lost. 

Play God Day: What would you do if you were in charge of the entire universe for the day? Noooo way. I will gladly leave that to God.

Jan 10. National Bittersweet Chocolate Day: What’s your favorite type of chocolate? White chocolate.

Save the Eagles Day: What are bald eagles symbolic of? Strength, freedom, bravery.

Peculiar People Day: Who’s the most peculiar person you know? Hmm. I don’t know. I use that word to describe things more often.

National Cut Your Energy Costs Day: What do you do in order to save energy? We wait to run the dishwasher and washer and dryer until after a certain time. I think it’s after 7PM.

National Oysters Rockefeller Day: Have you ever had baked oysters before? Did you like them? Nah, I’m good.

National Houseplant Appreciation Day: Do you have any indoor plants? How about outdoor plants? No indoor ones, but my mom has a couple outside.

Jan 11. National Arkansas Day: Have you ever been to Arkansas before? Nope.

Learn Your Name in Morse Code Day: Do you know how to use Morse code? No.

National Human Trafficking Awareness Day: Do you know anyone who’s been a victim of human trafficking?   Nooo. I can’t believe that goes on, horrific doesn’t even begin to describe it.

National Milk Day: Do you prefer white, chocolate, or strawberry milk? I liked strawberry milk when I was a kid. I could totally go for a strawberry milkshake, though.

National Girl Hug Boy Day: Have you ever been the one to make the first move? No.

National Hot Toddy Day: Have you ever made yourself a hot toddy before? Nope. I’ve never had one.

National Step in a Puddle and Splash Your Friends Day No question for this?

National Vision Board Day: Do you have a vision board? Have you ever made one before? What would be on it? Nope. I have no idea what I would do for one.

Jan 12. National Pharmacist Day: When’s the last time you visited the pharmacist? Uhhh, it’s been a long time. My mom or brother just pick up my medicine for me.

National Sunday Supper Day: Do you have big Sunday dinners with your family? No. 

Feast of Fabulous Wild Men Day: Who’s a fabulous man that you know of? lol what an interesting day. Anyway, hmm. I don’t know.

National Marzipan Day: Do you know what marzipan is? Have you ever made it/had it before? I know what it is, but I don’t think I’ve had it. I definitely have never made it.

National Curried Chicken Day: Do you enjoy curry? Have you ever had it before? I’ve only had it once, but I remember liking it. It’s spicy, right? I can’t have spicy food anymore. :/

National Kiss a Ginger Day: Have you ever dated a redhead before? No.

National Youth Day: Do you know of a child who made a huge difference in society?   I’ve heard stories of kids who have done really awesome things for charity and to help their communities, especially during the pandemic. 

National Glazed Doughnut Day: What’s your favorite type of doughnut? Maple or glazed cake donuts.

Jan 13. National Rubber Ducky Day: When’s the last time you used a rubber ducky in the bathtub? When I was a kid.

Stephen Foster Memorial Day: Do you like any songs by Stephen Foster? I had to Google who that was, and the only song I think I know is Swanee River. 

National Peach Melba Day: Have you ever had a Peach Melba before? How was it? Nope. Had to Google that, too.

Korean American Day: Do you know any Koreans immigrants who now live in America? No.

National Gluten-Free Day: Do you know anyone who has to follow a gluten-free diet? Not personally, but a couple people I watch on YouTube have celiac disease. 

National Sticker Day: Did you like stickers as a kid? I loved stickers. Stickers are still awesome. Although, I never know what to do with them now, ha. I can’t commit to putting them anywhere.

National Clean Off Your Desk Day: Do you have a desk in your room? Is it organized? Nope. My desk is my bed, ha. It has my laptop and some other stuff that a desk would likely have. My bed is where I spend most of my time, so.

International Skeptics Day: Are you skeptical of anything? What? Yeah. Like when reading something online, for example. Or certain news stories.

Make Tour Dream Come True Day: Have any of your dreams actually ever come true before? Uhh well, I’ve had dreams about going to Disneyland and I’ve gone. ha.

Jan 14. National Dress Up Your Pet Day: Have you ever dressed up your pet before? In what? Yeah, she has a few sweaters and Halloween costumes.

National Hot Pastrami Sandwich Day: What’s your favorite kind of sandwich? Deli sandwich with turkey, salami, Monterey Jack cheese, pickles, mayo, mustard, and oil and vinegar spread is my favorite. I’ll have that at home, too, but it always taste best when I get it from somewhere. I like bologna sandwiches as well.

Ratification Day: Do you remember the significance of the Treaty of Paris? Yeah.

International Kite Day: Have you ever flown a kite before? Nope.

National Shop For Travel Day: When’s the last time you went shopping for a vacation? Back in February before our Disneyland trip. I can’t believe we were in lockdown/quarantine about a month later. 

Jan 15. National Booch Day: Do you like the taste of Kombucha? I’ve never tried it and have no interest to. My brother loves it.

National Hat Day: What does your favorite hat look like? It’s rose gold and has a little white Mickey Mouse symbol on it that I got from Disneyland.

National Bagel Day: What kind of bagel do you eat most often? What do you put on it? I haven’t had a bagel in years, but I always just had a regular one with cream cheese. Strawberry cream cheese is really good.

National Strawberry Ice Cream Day: What’s your favorite flavor ice cream? Strawberry.

Museum Selfie Day: When’s the last time you went to a museum? Several years ago.

National Fresh Squeezed Juice Day: Have you ever made your own juice or lemonade before? How was it? Lemonade, yeah. It was good.

Jan 16. National Nothing Day: When’s the last time you did absolutely nothing all day? Everyday?

Appreciate a Dragon Day: Are dragons your favorite mythical creature? Nah, I’d go with fairies. 

National Without a Scalpel Day: Has anyone ever used a scalpel on you before? Yes, for surgical procedures.

Get to Know Your Customers Day: Is the customer really always right? Why or why not? Not always, that’s for sure. I’ve heard a lot of horror stories from people I know who work in retail and yikes. People can be so rude. 

National Religious Freedom Day: Are you a religious person? Yes.

National Fig Newtons Day: When’s the last time you ate a Fig Newton? I’m not exactly sure, but I know it’s been yearssss.

International Hot and Spicy Food Day: What’s the spiciest food you eat? I can’t eat spicy food anymore D: I used to be obSESSED, though. I put hot sauce on just about everything and loved spicy chips and ramen and just everything.

Rid the World of Fad Diets and Gimmicks Day: Have you ever been on a diet before? Did it work? I’ve had to be on high protein and high caloric diets before and I’m supposed to be on one now, but gah. My appetite is a mess and I have other issues that affect my eating and yeah. It’s hard. Jan 17. National Bootlegger’s Day: Do you know anyone who makes bootleg DVD’s? No. I don’t really hear much about that anymore like I did back in the day.

National Hot Heads Chili Day: What do you like to eat in your chili? I can’t eat chili anymore, but back in the day I loved it spicy. 

National Hot Buttered Rum Day: Are you a fan of rum, or do you prefer another type of alcohol? I don’t like any alcohol.

Ben Franklin Day: Name at least one of Ben Franklin’s inventions. The lightning rod.

Michelle Obama’s Birthday: Do you miss when her husband was back in office? I don’t like getting into politics. 

Ditch New Year’s Resolution Day: How long do you keep your New Year’s Resolutions for? Do you even make them in the first place? I stopped making those years ago. 

Jan 18. National Winnie the Pooh Day: Who is your favorite character from Winnie the Pooh? Awww I love Winnie the Pooh, he’s my favorite. I really vibe with Eeyore, too. 

National Michigan Day: Do you live in Michigan? Nope.

National Gourmet Coffee Day: What’s your favorite “specialized” coffee drink? The winter drinks at Starbucks.

National Thesaurus Day: When’s the last time you used a thesaurus? Recently for something, I forget why.

National Peking Duck Day: Have you ever eaten duck before? No.

National Use Your Gift Card Day: Where would you like to get a gift card to? Hmm. BoxLunch would be cool.

Jan 19. World Quark Day: Have you ever heard of quark? Nope. I just Googled it, though. Doesn’t sound appealing.

National  Popcorn Day: What’s your favorite seasoning/flavor of popcorn? Good ol’ movie theater popcorn with salt and lots of butter. I also love this garlic parm seasoning I get at the store.

National Disc Jockey Day: Would you rather have a band or a DJ at your wedding. DJ.

World Religion Day: What is your religion? Do you have one? Christian.

National Tin Can Day: What’s the last can that you recycled? My family and I recycle our cans and plastic bottles. The last can I had was a Starbucks Doubleshot coffee energy drink.

Jan 20. National Cheese Lover’s Day: What’s your favorite kind of cheese? I loveee cheese. Various kinds.

Martin Luther King jr. Day: In what ways was Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. influential? He was a huge influential leader in the civil rights movement and helped spark major changes. He was a very courageous and intelligent man.

National Buttercrunch Day: Have you ever made butter crunch before? Nope.

National Penguin Day: What’s your favorite thing about penguins? Their little waddle and how they mate for life. They’re so cute.

Jan 21. National Hugging Day: Are you a hugger? Not really. Like, I’m not one to initiate a hug. Hugs from certain people are really nice, though.

National Granola Bar Day: Do you eat granola bars? What’s your favorite flavor? I used to all the time. The Quaker Oats chocolate chip, peanut butter, and s’mores ones were my favorite. Sunbelt oats and honey granola bars are really good, too.

Squirrel Appreciation Day: Squirrels or chipmunks? Chipmunks. Aww, this reminds of Ty because he was squirrel and I was giraffe.

International Sweatpants Day: How many pairs of sweatpants do you own? Only 2. I’m a leggings gal, I have a shitload of leggings. I feel like a cartoon character when they show their closest lol.

National Banana Bread Day: Do you prefer your banana bread with or without walnuts? How about chocolate chips? Without walnuts, hands down. SO good. I’ve never tried it with chocolate chips.

National New England Clam Chowder Day: Do you like New England Clam Chowder soup? No.

Jan 22. Celebration of Life Day: Do you believe that abortion should be legal? Why or why not? I don’t like getting into political and touchy topics like this.

National Blonde Brownie Day: What’s your favorite type of brownie? Fudge brownies. Yum.

Library Shelfie  Day: How often do you visit your public library? I haven’t gone since I was in high school, so it’s been over 10 years.

National Southern Food Day: What’s your favorite Southern food/meal? Biscuits and gravy.

National Sanctity of Human Life Day: Do you believe that all humans have some sort of value? Yes?

National Answer Your Cat’s Questions Day: Do you talk to your pets? Of course! All the time.

Hot Sauce Day: How hot do you like your hot sauce? I can only handle a little mild hot sauce now. D: I used to be obsessed with spicy foods and hot sauces back when I could have it.

Jan 23. National Handwriting Day: Do you prefer printing or writing in cursive? Printing. 

World Spay Day: Are all of your pets spayed or neutered? Yes, my doggo is spayed. That was done before we could bring her home from the adoption shelter.

National Pie Day/National Rhubarb Pie Day: What’s your favorite type of pie? Cheesecake. That’s the only kind I like.

Measure Your Feet Day: How big are your feet? I have small feet. I wear a 6 in womens (US). I can wear a 3.5/4 in kid’s, too. That’s the size my Adidas are.

Jan 24. Beer Can Appreciation Day: What’s your favorite type of beer? Ew, none.

National Compliment Day: What’s the last compliment that you’ve received? I don’t even remember, it’s been a long time.

National Peanut Butter Day: What’s your favorite food that involves peanut butter? Reese’s. 

International Day of Education: Why do you feel that education important? There’s a lot of benefits to being educated. It helps you gain knowledge about the world around you, helps you build and form opinions, make better, well-informed decisions on certain things, helps you learn skills that will be beneficial for you... there’s a lot of reasons.

Global Belly Laugh Day: When’s the last time you laughed so hard you cried? It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good laugh like that.

National Eskimo Pie Patent Day: When’s the last time you had an Eskimo Pie? I’ve never had one.

National Lobster Thermidor Day: When’s the last time you ate lobster? I don’t eat lobster. Or any seafood.

Jan 25. National Opposite Day: Have you ever been attracted to someone that was the complete opposite of you? Yes.

Community Manager Appreciation Day: At your workplace, do you have a good manager/boss, or not? Are you your own boss? I don’t have a job.

National Irish Coffee Day: Have you ever had an Irish Coffee before? Nope.

National Seed Swap Day: What’s the last seed you planted? I’ve never planted any seeds.

National Florida Day: Do you know anyone who is from Florida? Not personally, but a few YouTubers I watch are.

Chinese New Year: What is your Chinese animal? (the year of the ___) Snake.

Burns Supper: Favorite poem by Robert Burns? I don’t think I’m familiar with his work.

Jan 26. National Green Juice Day: Do you drink any sort of health drinks? Nope. 

National Peanut Brittle Day: Do you enjoy peanut brittle? Nah, it’s too hard.

National Spouses Day: Do you hope to get married one day? Why or why not? I don’t plan on getting married.

Australia Day: If you were to go to Australia, what would you want to see/do first? I’d probably want to go to Sydney. 

International Customs Day: What do you think of the current level of border security in your area? Uhhh.

World Leprosy Day: Do you know anyone who has leprosy? No.

Jan 27. National Bubble Wrap Day: As an adult, would you still be interested in popping bubble wrap? Um, absolutely! You’re never too old for bubblewrap. 

National Chocolate Cake Day: Do you prefer chocolate cake or another flavor instead? I much prefer white, funfetti, strawberry, or red velevet.

World Breast Pumping Day: If you have a baby, would you breastfeed or formula feed? Why? I’m not having kids.

International Holocaust Remembrance Day: Do you know of any Holocaust survivors? Eli Wiesel, the author of Night, a book about his horrifying experience during the Holocaust and in Nazi concentration camps, came to talk to my sophomore English class.

Wolfgang Mozart’s Birthday: Do you like to listen to Mozart? I have an appreciation for a lot of piano pieces.

Punch the Clock Day: Do you have to punch in and out at work, or do you have a paper time sheet? I don’t have a job.

Jan 28. National Have Fun at Work Day: What is one fun thing about your work?

National Blueberry Pancake Day: Would you rather have blueberry pancakes or chocolate chip pancakes? Blueberry.

Data Privacy Day: Have one of your websites ever been hacked before? Yes, back in the day.

National Daisy Day: Are daisies your favorite flower? No, but they are pretty.

National Lego Day: Do you follow the building instructions if you have a Lego kit, or do you build your own prototype? I haven’t played with Legos since I was a kid, but I just made my own things for the most part. I do remember attempting to make some of the things they showed on the container the Legos came in.

National Kazoo Day: Have you ever played a kazoo before? Nope.

National Plan For Vacation Day: Where would you like to go on vacation? A lot of places. I wish I could just go on a vacation at all right now. :(

Global Community Engagement Day: How do you play a part in your community? Uhhh. I’m not involved in any community things.

Jan 29. National Corn Chip Day: Fritos or Tostitos? Both are good.

National Puzzle Day: How many pieces was the last jigsaw puzzle that you completed? I have no idea, I haven’t done a puzzle since I was a kid. I’ve actually been wanting to do one recently, though.

Jan 30. National Croissant Day: What do you like to put on your croissant? They’re just good on their own.

National Inane Answering Message Day: Do you leave voicemails, or do you hang up and try again later? If I’m calling my doctor I might leave a voicemail, but usually I’ll just try again later. I hate leaving voicemails, though. If I’m calling my parents, I’ll just call again or send them a text.

Jan 31. Inspire Your Heart With Art Day: What form of art would you be most likely to try your hand at? I like to color, but that’s as artsy as it gets for me.

National Backward Day: Can you walk around backwards without tripping over something? Well, I can wheel backwards.

National Hot Chocolate Day: Do you like hot chocolate? Do you prefer a certain flavor? Yes. I just like the regular kind with marshmallows and whipped cream.

National Big Wig Day: What type of job would you like to have that allows you to be in charge? I wouldn’t want to be in charge.

Eat Brussel Sprouts Day: Do you like Brussel sprouts? Nooo.

Brandy Alexander Day: Do you like to drink brandy? Nope. I don’t drink alcohol.

National Weeks

Folic Acid Awareness Week: Do you know anyone with a congenital disability? Yes.

Universal Letter Writing Week: When’s the last time you hand-wrote a letter to someone? I don’t even remember.

Diet Resolution Week: Have you ever gone on a diet before because of someone’s comments about your weight? Yeah, but it was to try and gain weight because I’m too thin. 

National Silent Record Week: Have you ever listened to a silent record before? No.

National Pizza Week: What do you like to eat on your pizza? White sauce, feta and ricotta cheese, spinach, garlic, crumbled meatballs, and pesto drizzled on top.

Home Office Safety and Security Week: Does your home have a security system? Yes.

Cuckoo Dancing Week: Do you like to dance? Sure. Well, by dance I mean head bobbing and maybe moving my arms and shoulders a bit. Oh, and sad attempts at TikTok dances haha.

World Kiwanis Week: Do you know what the Kiwani’s Club revolves around? No.

National Mocktail Week: What’s your favorite mocktail? When I was a kid I liked virgin strawberry margaritas. This one restaurant my family and I often went to had them for kids and they were so good.

Hunt For Happiness Week: Where do you find your happiness? At the beach watching the waves crash in and out, smelling the ocean air, and feeling that nice, cool breeze. I just get lost in it and it’s really relaxing.

National Healthy Weight Week: Do you feel that you are a healthy weight? Why or why not? No, I’m not. I’m underweight.

International Snowmobile Safety & Awareness Week: Have you ever ridden on a snowmobile before? Nope.

No Name-Calling Week: What’s the worst name you’ve ever been called? Who knows what people have said or thought about me that I’m not aware of, nor do I want to know, but the only things I know of are the things I’ve said and think about myself. I’m my own worst enemy.

International Hoof Care Week: Do you like any animals that have hooves? Giraffes. <3

National Catholic Schools Week: Did you ever go to a Catholic school before? No.

National CRNA Week: Have you ever been put under anesthesia before? How were you when you came out of it? Yeah, several times. I always felt sick, groggy, and really cold afterwards.

Meat Week: What’s your favorite type of meat? Or are you a vegetarian/vegan? Chicken.

National School Choice Week: Would you have preferred to be in a public school, a private school, or to be homeschooled? I was fine with public school.

National Cowboy Poetry Gathering Week: Do you know anyone who is a cowboy? Nope.

National Months

National Hot Tea Month: What’s your favorite flavor tea? Chamomile, peppermint, and spearmint.

National Oatmeal Month: What’s your favorite flavor of oatmeal? I like regular oatmeal with condensed milk, brown sugar, and cinnamon. 

National Slow Cooking Month: Do you have a crock-pot? Well, my mom does, but yeah.

National Soup Month: What’s your favorite kind of soup? I’m a ramen gal.

National Baking Month: What’s your favorite thing to bake? If I bake it’s going to be cupcakes or muffins. It’s been awhile since I’ve baked anything, though.

National Fat Free Living Month: Do you eat foods that are fat-free? How about drinks? Not usually.

National Bath Safety Month: Do you prefer baths or showers? Showers. I have’t taken a bath since I was a kid.

National Blood Donor Month: Have you ever donated blood? When was the last time? No.

National Hobby Month: Do you have any hobbies? Doing surveys, reading, and coloring. 

National Train Your Dog Month: Is your dog well-trained? Yeah.

Walk Your Pet Month:  How often do you walk your dog, if you have one? I can’t do that, but my dad or brother take her.

National CBD Month: Have you ever used CBD oil? Nope.

National Black Diamond Month: Do you own anything with diamonds – black or regular? No.

National Mentoring Month: Have you ever had a mentor before? No.

National Menudo Month: Have you ever had menudo before? Nope. It doesn’t sound appealing to me.

[a-zebra-is-a-striped-horse]

[randomracoon]

Thank you for the tag @slavet0thegrind ♥️

(yeah sorry about the long post, I've no idea how to do that 'read more' thing...)

Do you prefer writing in black or blue pen?: Black but I usually use blue 🙈

Would you prefer to live in the country or the city?: In the country

If you could learn a new skill, what would it be?: Maybe how to play the cello :D

Do you drink tea/coffee with sugar?: Nope, no sugar

What was your favorite book as a child?: I don't know...I loved all the animal stories

Do you prefer baths or showers?: Showers

If you could be a mythical creature, which one would you be?: I don't know, maybe a griffin or a dragon...

Paper or electronic books?: Paper

What is your favorite item of clothing?: My green plaid shirt (actually it's my mom's shirt from the early 90s 🙈 I used to sleep with it when I was very little...I have loved it ever since.)

Do you like your name?: It's ok

Who is a mentor to you?: Not anyone particularly

Would you like to be famous?: Meh

Are you a restless sleeper?: I don't think so, I'm very light sleeper though

Do you consider yourself to be a romantic person?: maybe, maybe not

Which element best represents you?: Oh I don't know...I kinda feel like a mix of every basic element..

Who do you want to be closer to?: everything, everyone, but at the same time..I'm very reserved and private and it kinda sucks sometimes ('cause I feel like I'm too reserved)

Do you miss someone at the moment?: yes and no, i don't know

Tell us about an early childhood memory?: I think this is one of my very first "clearer" memories: When my cousin and I were, maybe 3 years old, we and our parents went on some kind of camping/fishing trip. We were playing with pine cones ("cone cows" etc.) in front of our tent, then for some reason my cousin decided that she wanted to take off my hat and fill it with sand and then put it back on my head. So yes, the sand got everywhere, my eyes, ears etc.

What is the strangest thing you've ever eaten?: Ants? (not many xD) I have eaten them off the floor when I was little...That's a little bit weird...

What are you most thankful for?: I try to be thankful for all the little things (oh gosh, this sounds funny after that last answer 😂)

Have you ever met anyone famous?: Not really

Do you keep a diary or journal?: Kinda

Do you prefer to use pen or pencil?: If I'm drawing then pencil if not then pen

What's your star sign?: Gemini (such a mess 'cause it's so different from my other signs and I don't really feel like Gemini)

Do you like your cereal crunchy or soggy?: I don't eat cereal, but soggy sounds horrible 😂

What would you want your legacy to be?: Meh...dunno

Do you like reading? What was the last book you read?: Yes, if I feel like it...The last book I read? like a whole book? I actually can't remember...

How do you show someone you love them?: By listening to them and helping them if I can...I'm very bad at keeping in touch with people and seriously, I feel so bad about that...

Do you like ice in your drinks?: Rarely

What are you afraid of?: Deep waters. (and walking or being on frozen lake/river etc.)

What is your favorite scent?: Rain, earth, forest, fresh air

Do you address older people by their name or surname?: Their name

If money was not a factor, how would your life be different?: Yes it would be different, definitely more stress-free... But I don't really know how much different because I think there are many other issues that are keeping me from doing what I, maybe, would like to do so...

Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean?: I rarely swim anymore but if I have to say something then in a lake (my parents live by the lake so...) and ONLY in shallow water and no waves please when I'm in the water 😂

What would you do if you found $50 on the ground?: Actually I would probably leave it there 'cause I would be in that "what am I gonna do? What should I do?" -mode. But if saw who dropped it, then I would definitely give it to them.

What is one thing you'd want to teach your children?: I don't think I'm gonna have kids...

If you had to get a tattoo right now, what and where would it be?: On my wrist or ankle...maybe a tree or a bird or wolf or some kind of mandala...with my own designs

What can you hear now?: I'm listening to my Spotify lists, so right now: Grey Daze - Morei Sky

Where do you feel the safest?: Depends...Could be in the middle of the forest but yeah usually in my bed

What is one thing you want to overcome/conquer?: oh god so many things, and at the same time nothing

If you could travel back to any era in time, what would it be?: late 80's/early 90's

What is your most used emoji?: 😂 as you can see

Describe yourself using one word?: -?

What do you regret most?: not really listening to myself when making decisions about my life

Last movie you saw?: some Jim Carrey comedy my sisters were watching

Last TV show you watched?: Lol I watched an episode of Bondi Rescue (yeah, it definitely helped my fear of deep waters 😂)

Invent a word and its meaning: I have no brain for that right now 😂

I tag: @spreadthecurse @legzeppelin @punk-rock-sunflowerr @sexcoffeeandrockandroll if you want to :)

[paradise-of-guilty-pleasures]

Shattered Reflections {12}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter:  11. Spilling the Tea

A/N:

Kristanna Chapter. It's Short and Sweet. Hope you Enjoy~ 

12. Homemade with Love

After her tea time chat with Elsa, regarding a certain auburn-haired Prince she'd still like to punch in the face, Anna needed to find a way to decompress. Lucky for her, she had a great big cuddly bear of a boyfriend, she could go to for all her coddling needs. They had planned to spend the afternoon together and Anna was going to take full advantage of all the warm hugs and sweet kisses she could get.

Kristoff packed the picnic, mostly to test how Anna liked his cooking. Fresh molasses bread he'd baked, a stew of wild vegetables and game he'd caught, that sort of thing. He'd been planning for a while to try Anna on some of his foods, to see how she liked his wilder sort of life without pushing her into the deep end. So, he was a little nervous. Of course, she found him at the stables with Sven. "Hey there, Feistypants." He hummed, offering an arm to hug her, with the other holding the picnic basket. He was always down to hold his girlfriend, which was great because she seemed to need the hugs.

Anna didn't waste a second to wrap her arms around him in a big warm hug. "Don't call me, Feistypants," she playfully grumbled, with her face pressed against his chest. She took in his scent, no longer a stinky reindeer man odor, now more of a manly mountain musk of Kristoff, it helped that he'd bathe more frequently since they started courting. The smell of Kristoff wasn't the only thing her nose picked up, there was something else lingering in the air. ``Whatever you have planned for us today smells delicious," Anna said, prying herself from their embrace to try to sneak a peek into the picnic basket.

"Mmhm, a homemade picnic from the sort of stuff I eat at home. Where would you like to go enjoy it? Somewhere near the woods, or by the fjord, maybe under a willow tree somewhere?" Kristoff hummed. He didn't mind if she snuck a peek, she wouldn't see much but food-- but it would be what she thought of it that would be the real surprise. "I figured you ought to see what my cooking is like before, well, whatever happens in the future." He was still too nervous to say 'marriage'.

"Hmm? We can go whenever, as long as we share some relaxing alone time together, I don't really mind where we go," Anna chirped. "Oh! Is that so? You made it yourself, for me, I'm honored. If it tastes as good as it smells, which I'm pretty sure it will, you don't have to worry about your culinary skills impressing me, besides I can assure you it's definitely better than anything I can prepare myself," She giddily giggled.

"Mmhm, a few different foods I make so you can try a taste, some homemade molasses bread and cheese and butter, some garden fruits and vegetables. Here, we can find a place on Sven." He helped Anna up onto Sven's back and hung up the picnic basket on Sven's antlers while he got up so nothing would spill. He picked it up again and guided Sven out. Out over the grass and toward the willow trees that once sparkled with eternal ice when Elsa had frozen the land. Now the trees had bright spring green leaves and draped over their trunks with grace and poise, drifting down toward clear ponds where ducks built nests. Kristoff found a lovely clear spot on a hill under the sun where they could enjoy their picnic.

It was the perfect spot, secluded, beautiful and refreshing. Away from all the worries of the castle. Anna took in the fresh air and explored a bit of the surrounding area as Kristoff set up the picnic. She'd picked some wild flowers and returned to the picnic area. Anna playfully placed one of the flowers in Kristoff's hair, behind his ear. "There, now everything is perfect," Anna said brightly giggling. Kristoff laughed a little with her, and made sure she had a flower, too. "Better keep one for yourself too little dandy-lion." He teased. He liked that almost as much as feistypants, a little false lion trying to be fierce. "We've got a hot wild-game stew with wild vegetables, stuffed wild mushrooms, dandelion green salad, nettle beer, red clover ice tea, pine-wild berry crisp, and my usual lunch packs: homemade molasses bread, stored cheese, wild apples, and some smoked and dried meats. Admittedly the stuffed mushrooms were just me trying to impress, but most of this is the kind of thing I'd eat at home, and probably none of it is what you'd be used to." He smiled, but some of it was nervous. He unloaded clay containers of hot things that he had carefully brought to make sure they would stay warm, carefully insulated in the picnic basket.

"What would you like to try first? Or d'you want to try a little bit of everything and hope for the best? I won't tell you what the wild game is, but it's not reindeer." He didn't need her freaking out about rabbits, birds, or the occasional well-cooked wolf. "I do all my own hunting and keep a garden at home for the 'wild' vegetables and fruits, sometimes the folks stop by to help in the garden." He hoped the hunting wouldn't be too off-putting when she finally saw it. He didn't actually want to change his lifestyle, he loved his home. The castle was nice, but he hoped she would spend a little time with him in his home, too.

"Hmm," Anna hummed as she tapped her index finger on her chin. " I'm feeling adventurous today, give me a little bit of everything, please." A wide grin plastered on her face. "Food straight from the source sounds exciting, especially knowing you prepared it all for me with love," she cheekily teased.

"That's right." Kristoff hummed, and leaned over to kiss her forehead just to be cute. He dished up little bits of everything, including a few different meats from the stew along with a little of all the vegetables, a few stuffed mushrooms, some of the salad and bread, to start with. A plate could only hold so much, after all, may as well start with the savories. "Beer or tea to start with? The beer isn't strong, it's a 'small beer', made for after work when you need a drink but don't necessarily trust the water to be safe. You'll still be sober at the end of a pint. If I had a decent supply of honey I might make mead, but I don't know how to maintain a hive yet, it seems like full-time work." It wasn't important, it was just thoughts on his life.

Anna wore a beaming smile, she loved Kristoff's soft kisses, just as much as she loved warm hugs. " Now that's a tough choice," she giggled. "But I think I'll start with the tea and save the beer for later."

He smiled at her giggling, it was just so sweet and warmed his heart. Which was good, as an ice harvester. He poured her some ice tea into mugs. A lot of ceramic, which made sense, clay was easy enough to get and to make and fire, with a little practice; and it held hot and cold things fairly well, once they were glazed. That was the hard part, but potters were easy enough to find and work with. "I hope you enjoy it, I know it's not going to be like what you're used to." There wasn't much processed sugar, mostly molasses or honey. Anywhere he would use egg it would be from wild birds, and all of his fruits and vegetables were from things that weren't typically farmed. "The trolls taught me how to garden a lot of these things, but some things like mushrooms have to be foraged for, and some things like milk and cheese I still have to buy. I suppose I needed some reason to go to town and hold a proper job." He joked. Now he didn't need a reason any stronger than Anna.

"Milk and cheese are pretty good reasons," she laughed and quipped back. "I know chocolate would be on the top of my list."

"Now let me taste this lovely meal prepared just for me," she hummed as she brought a spoonful in for the first bite. Kristoff was right, it wasn't what she was used to. It was different, but good different, it was quite delectable in fact. The vegetables and the tender meat were paired well in a perfect blend of texture and flavor. She needed more. "Oh my goodness Kristoff, this is so good," she purred with another spoonful already in her mouth. Anna may have been a princess, but etiquette often took a back seat to her eccentric nature.

"Clothes too, I can only sew patchwork, really. Thankfully, the ice farmers' wives are usually pretty good to help out with that kind of thing. As long as I don't mind them trying to set me up with their daughters." He cringed, clearly not comfortable with that idea. "I'm glad you like it!" He wondered if he should tell her what the meat was, or wait until it was digested before he let her know she was probably eating rabbit and wolf, or maybe a wild bird, depending on which bite of meat she had. He was just glad she enjoyed whatever she ate. "I live alone, so I figured I'd best learn how to cook properly." and apparently, he did that in spades.

"Hmm? Cooking and sewing, on top of being a strong handsome ice harvester," Anna swooned. "I guess I'm extra lucky that none of those daughters managed to snag you first, cause you sir are quite the catch," she praised, holding the spoon upside down against her lips.

He laughed a little. "Like I said, I can just sew patches and fix a seam now and then." He shrugged, maybe flushing a little at the compliments. "Maybe I'll ask Elsa if she'd be okay with you coming up to visit my home for twenty-four hours or so. If I promise there won't be any funny business and tell her that Sven can be a good 'moral guardian'. But I'd like you to visit sometime..." Sometime before they got married. "I've been proposed to once or twice, usually by women just happy that I have a job. I politely declined and did my best to trade routes with other ice harvesters, but I still can't get away from the occasional nudge toward one of their daughters." He rolled his eyes, definitely not interested. And that was before the eternal winter. Now that he had a title, he just did his best to not have to talk to women outside of the castle.

Kristoff's mention of Elsa and staying overnight, made her smile falter remembering their tea time discussion. She didn't want to damper their date with her distress so soon, though right now seemed to be the right time to bring up the subject. "Um, Kristoff," She began. "Speaking of staying over..." She fidgeted with the spoon in her hand. "Do you think you could possibly stay over at the castle, for a while? I'd feel as lot safer if you did and Elsa said it was okay, at least until..." She took a deep sigh. "H-he's gone." She let out an involuntary gulp.

Kristoff was a little surprised, but nodded. "Alright, if it makes you feel safer." No questions, he understood what Anna had been through. He remembered the sight of Anna frozen on the fjord, as if in a dream. He had barely had time to process the idea before she was unfrozen again, but it did remind Kristoff of the dark side of 'nothing is permanent'. He spent a lot more time thinking about mortality, these days. "Do you want me to hold you until you fall asleep or just to hang out with the guards in the hall so I can put him through a window if he snoops around?" That was at least a little bit of a joke, to try and lighten her mood.

"Thank you." Kristoff's joke brought a small smile back to Anna's face. She sighed again. "I really wish he didn't have this control over me, but he still does and I hate it." Anna huffed. "And what's worse is that my own sister acts all nonchalant about the whole ordeal. I don't know what's gotten into Elsa, but it frightens me more how much trust she has in the very monster that tried to kill her and me!" "I don't want to doubt my own sister's judgement, she's Queen after all, and making tough decisions is what she has to do, but I can't help but feel a bit disappointed in the one she chose to take. Especially since she didn't consult me first and tried to hide the whole thing to try to 'protect me'. " I feel like I've become the cautious one and I'm the one warning her about him. Maybe there's something I'm missing. But, ugh! It's just so frustrating that I still have to nudge Elsa to open up to me... It's almost like she has more faith in him than me," Anna went from frustration to disappointment in a fraction of a second. Anna took a deep sigh from her venting. "All this to say, I don't trust Hans in the least. I don't know what he's been filling Elsa's head with, in order to make her trust him, but I know first hand he's a two-faced snake and I can't help but think that he's plotting something."

Kristoff stopped to think about it. "Maybe-- and stay with me on this-- you should talk to him, too? Not to try and trust him, but to figure out what he's been saying to seem trustworthy? I spoke to him in the battle and he seemed honest, but I also only asked whose side he was on, I didn't ask why. I definitely don't have any love for the guy. I can stay by you as a guard if you want to talk to him? But I also won't ask you to stress yourself out. I'll be the wall between you if I have to be, nobody will hurt you with me around." Kristoff assured. He didn't want her to be afraid, ever. "You're right to be frustrated, I can understand your point of view, I'd have a hard time believing if you weren't bothered."

Initially, Anna's eyes grew wide in disbelief at the suggestion, but she held her tongue and listened closely. Kristoff was wise and Anna trusted that he would never steer her wrong. After he finished she paused to ponder. " You know what? You're absolutely right!" She determinedly declared. "I should totally face him myself! I shouldn't have to cower in fear in my own home, he doesn't deserve that satisfaction! If I want my questions answered, I must go straight to source!

"Kristoff, please stand by my side when I face him, because I'm afraid...I'm afraid, I'll punch an injured man in the face, if I have no one there to stop me." "Thank you, for your insight," she said softly as she kissed his cheek. "One of the many many reasons I love you." "But, hey, let's not let that issue distract us from our date any longer. Let's continue enjoying the lovely meal you prepared for me and our alone time and we'll deal with all that stuff later."

Kristoff laughed a little at her quick turn from determination to not wanting to 'punch an injured man in the face'. "I'll be there." He promised, and pulled her back over to return her kiss, just to be cute and affectionate. "I love you too, feistypants." "And if you need me to be the scary growly mountain man to spook him a little I can do that too." Boy could he. He didn't act scary much now that he had Anna, but he still could, when pressed. The savory foods were delicious, the tea was made sweet, the wild-berry crisp was tart, it was all very good-- but the warm molasses bread with butter was probably the best, especially next to an occasional slice of cheese. Kristoff made the bread often, and he knew how to make it good. He ate a bit as well, but it was mostly for Anna to sample a lot of different foods. The extra lunch packs were hardly necessary, they were more like a demonstration of what he brought with him to work. It was, in his mind, a perfect date, just knowing that she liked his cooking and the different kinds of food he ate when he was home. He let her lean on him while he held her waist, and he was as happy there as a cat in a warm lap. Kristoff was a man of simple pleasures.

[the-fiction-witch]

Girl nextdoor

REAL LIFE

COUPLE TBS X READER

RATING SMUTT

"Thomas! Go help your mother with the washing!" My dad yelled as I sat in my room playing London racer, some little game I picked up cheap where you race a classic mini around the London eye

"Uhhh dad! I'm busy!" I yelled back

"Now!" He ordered so I sighed pausing my game and going down into the garden to help my mum while Ava ran around doing something im not sure what?

"Why do I have to help and Ava doesn't?" I complain

"Thomas!" He warns leaning in the patio door "don't get smart with me, else I'm taking your TV"

"But it's not fair!" I complain

"Thomas go to your room!" He ordered

"Thank you" i smiled going to go but he grabbed my shirt

"I'm taking your TV, and your playstation" he says going upstairs but I ran up to my room as fast as I could but he was already unplugging it

"Dad! That's not fair!" I yelled

"I warned you, I understand your going through some kind of teen angsty phase Thomas but enough of it, your grounded until you sort out this attitude problem" he says as he left the room with my TV and my games consoles so I slammed my bedroom door and laid on my bed, until

"Hello?" A little voice giggled from my window

"I'm not in the mood y/n!" I tell her

"I brought you mashmellows" she giggled

"You can leave them on the desk" I sighed but I heard steps and felt her poke my arm "what?" I groan "what do you want y/n?" I ask turning to see her

Whoa! What in holy hell happened to her!

I hadn't seen her since I came home from my last shoot, i- I was only gone three months!

Her hair had been cut off to a pixie almost, her thick glasses still perched on her nose as normal hiding the little freckles there, she had a little shirt with some graphic thing in it I could see her white bra strap where the shirt had slipped away, speaking of which, they where huge! They went exactly little when I left!, and a little short leatherette skirt with blue leggings hugging he thick things close

"Something the matter Thomas?" She asks confused why I had just frozen looking at her

"Wh wh wha wha what happened to you!" I ask in shock

"Ohh? Puberty I guess, yeah, I kinda missed it all" she blushed

"Yeah... I missed it" I nodded blushing hard

"You look nice though" she smiled sitting on my bed with me fixing a stay bit of her hair

"Thank you, but... As much as I want to see you y/n, I'm grounded" I told her

"Ohh I see" she giggled "it's okay, I'll sneak you food and things to do, here you can borrow my ds" she smiled pulling it out her top

"Y- you can fit a whole ds down your bra now?" I ask and she nods handing it to me giving me a hug and climbing out my window and back to her house I sat shocked a while I couldn't stop thinking about her I put her ds on my bedside table unable to think straight, what the hell is happening to me?

I laid laying y/n's ds, for a while mostly just play germ buster on brain training with the sound only in my earbuds till I yawned so I turned it off getting cosy in my bed to get some sleep, I hugged my pillow tightly, I just felt so happy and cosy in my bed Tonight I heard a giggle which made me jump I looked to my window and nothing, she wouldn't be coming over this late anyway so I put a blanket over me trying to fall asleep...

"Ohh Thomas" that sweet voice called to me, I have a thousand memories of that voice of hers but I loved hearing it tonight "heheheh Tommy"

"Umm y/n" I smirked falling deeper into my sleep,

When I woke I could hear the birds tweeting in the garden and I yawned having a stretch but I felt weird

"Hahahaha Thomas was sexy dreaming!" Ava laughed as she stood in my room "ohhh y/n, ohh Thomas!" She laughs

"Ava! Get out of my room!" I yelled throwing a pillow at her and she ran off out my bedroom I sighed going to get out of bed but I felt awful I pulled my covers back and - oh fuck!

I quickly jumped out of bed, best I could given I had some serious morning wood quickly getting my boxers off and getting a clean pair on ohh how the hell am I gonna deal with my bedsheets? Maybe If I completely strip the bed and tell my mum I changed it maybe she won't ask questions and won't look at the sheet

"Thomas?" A gigglely voice asks so I threw my boxers into the bed and climbed back in hidding everything as she climbed in the window "hi" she smiled

"Hi" I smiled

"You okay?" She asks

"Uhh yeah, yeah you uhh you woke me up that's all" I blush

"Heheheh relax Thomas, I've seen you in bed before, we use to have sleepovers remember" she laughs as she came sitting in the bed with me "are you okay? You seem... distant from me?" She asks

"Hu? Why would you think that?" I ask

"You've been acting odd since you came back, I get it, don't exactly wanna be hanging around with some stupid girl now your all grown up" she says

"No no y/n, it's not that" I tell her holding her hand

"Then what?" She asks

"It's... It's hard to explain" I told her "I don't really understand all of it right now but I promise, it's not that I don't want to spend time with you" I told her

"Yay!" She smiled Hugging my chest so I hugged her too she smiled leaving me some more games and heading off home I breathed alittle now she's gone, that didn't help the morning wood! A beautiful sexy girl climbing in my window at half ten in the morning

I hummed as I pegged my clothes on the line luckily I had managed to sneak anything I didn't want my parents to find away in my own laundry so they wouldn't find it currently doing a whole bunch I my boxers including the ones from the other morning

"Hi Thomas?" A little voice giggled I looked at the fence and saw y/n

"Y/n! Hi! Uhhhh hello" I blushed trying to cover up my underwear

"Relax Thomas, nothing I haven't seen before" she giggled winking at me and Running off.

I sighed sitting in my bed I got my stuff back so I was sat playing some games in the dark, I out of boredom during a loading screen I looked out my window spotting the little light next door I got up and looked, out of curiosity but when I did, I saw y/n stood in her room in just her bra and panties I felt like I was gonna explode she looked beautiful, sexy, irresistible like I'd give the word to get my hands on her I hid myself away shutting my curtians and trying to not think about what I saw shutting my game off and trying to get some sleep but I knew I couldn't it hurt! It pulsed and ached! I don't know what to do! I normally just wait for it to go down, but I can't fall asleep like this even if I did I'm just going to repeat the other week, I thought for ages trying to make it go down, but I felt my hand slip down my stomach and into my boxers not sure why I only really do that if my hands are cold, but I gripped the hard shaft and my eyes rolled back it felt so good I instantly Ran my hand up and down it feeling amazing I couldn't stop my hand working on its own, my head only thinking about one thing... About my pretty little y/n, how amazing she looks now how badly I wanted my hands on her pretty body, how badly I I I want to kiss her and touch her, "uuuhhh y/n!" I groan trying to stop myself from being nosy so my parents and sister won't hear me "uumm uuummmm Y/n..." I wanted her more then I ever have before my beautiful sexy y/n just have her climb in my room in those little dresses and skirts I knew I should stop but I couldn't make myself no Matter how hard I tried to stop "oooh y/n.... Uhh uuuhh" I groaned rolling my head on my pillow when a sudden overwhelming Wave of pleasure washed over me it twinged in my cock but flowed to my head and the tip my toes I couldn't breathe I couldn't think it felt so so good till it stopped. I was eaughsted laid on my bed catching my breath I couldn't even get the strength to open my eyes or move my hand I smirked happy with my little secret and turning over to get some sleep.

I yawned as I stretched getting out of my bed it's been a few weeks since my...  Humm my first time doing it, and I'm not gonna lie I might have a problem. Every night before I go to sleep, every morning before I get dressed, every one I have a bath, any time I'm alone, my hands in my pants I couldn't help it it just feels so nice I didn't want to stop I sat on my bed checking my phone nothing important so I went down getting a drink and noticed the house was empty, they had all gone out they'll be back later so a note said so I shrugged and got dressed sitting in bed watching TV having my hand down my jeans, not even to play with myself I just kinda like having my hand down my pants

"Hello?" She giggled so I quickly took my hand out and did my jeans back up

"Hey" I smiled as she climbed in the window "my parents aren't here y/n, you could have used the door" I laughed

"Now you tell me" she sighed coming and sitting on the other side of my bed "hi"

"Hi" I blushed it was strange having her sat on my bed given everything I've been... doing in my bed lately,

"I brought a movie" she says handing me a dvd box so I had a look

"Why did you bring a nature documentary?" I ask

"Looked interesting could learn something Thomas" she laughs getting up and going to sort my TV I got up and had a stretch walking past her

"I guess so, alright.. you do that I will make popcorn" I told her giving her cheek a kiss as I went past, wait... What the hell did i kiss her for! I froze realizing what I had done

"Uhhh okay," she laughs blushing a little "what was that for?" She asks

"I uhhhhh I ummm I umm well I uhgg" I stutter unable to form any words of any sort of excuse for why the bloody hell I kissed her

"Hehe Don't worry about it Tommy, well talk about it later" she smiled giving my cheek a kiss I blushed hard it feeling like burning where she kissed me I quickly ran downstairs to avoid her eyes making some popcorn and getting some other snacks for us even a bottle of fizzy pop and taking it all up to my room, once I got there she had pulled my curtains and the light was off, all but my little lamp on my bedside table and the light from the TV she was sat against the headboard on my side of my bed where I normally sleep Hugging one of my pillows close to her I smiled blushing hard looking at her in my bed we sorted all the snacks out at the end of the bed so they weren't in the way and she smiled patting the space beside her

"Uhhhh y/n, I just, just give me a minute I have to go do something" I tell her

"Okay" she nods giving my cheek another kiss I blushed just as hard as before I not more I went to go but she grabbed my arm "Don't I got a kissy too?" She giggled as she pulled so I sat on the edge of my bed

"Uhh yeah, sorry I uhh" I blushed

"Don't you want to kiss me?" She asks interwining our fingers so I held her hand

"No no no! Of course I do" I said to her "I'm just... Not the best with people, you know that y/n" I told her giving her cheek a kiss "five minutes I promise" I reasure her kissing her hand so she would let me go and she did so I went to my door and she looked upset "five minutes, and I'll be back y/n" I smiled

"Okay" she giggled tucking herself in my bed and blowing me a kiss so I blew her a kiss too before I left my room the second I shut the door I bolted down the corridor to the bathroom ohh my fucking god I kissed her! And she's kissing me! Could I actually get a kiss of y/n? Or maybe even something better!  I didn't know what to do to calm down so I brushed my teeth I already did this morning but if our kisses get more serious then I don't want to be worried about it, I didn't know what to do about...the obvious jeans problem, I'm my bed I'll be so tempted to just stick my hands down them, so I undid my jeans quickly Rubbing going as fast as I could thinking of those heavenly kisses umm I want those sexy lips all over me

"Thomas you okay?" She asks from the other side of the door

"Yeah! I'm fine!" I force out trying to keep going hearing her voice helped alot

"Alright, I'm gonna start an episode okay" she says

"Okay, just give me a couple more minutes" I answered just as I "ummmmmm!" I bit m mouth hard to stop myself screaming as I finished into the sink and crashed into the waves of pleasure I smirked and sorted myself out, washing my hands and face as well as putting alot more deodorant and Body spray and fixing my hair so I looked good for her calming down and going back to my room "what did I miss?" I ask sitting on my bed with her

"Uhh the into, and something about lions" she says eating popcorn

"Fun" I laughed quickly getting some popcorn before she ate it all watching the show a while, they where talking about sloths, y/n likes sloths, not sure why... She finds them cute

"Thomas look it's you" she says pointing to the sloth

"Why is it me?" I asked

"Because your lazy, cute and fluffy" she says resting her head on my shoulder

"Aww... Thanks y/n" I smiled resting my head on hers while she was watching I took her hand again making her smile a little more giving my cheek another kiss I blushed hard looking at her nuzzled on my shoulder I smiled and gave her nose a tiny kiss making her giggle like crazy she smiled looking at me I couldn't help blushing harder looking into her eyes I wanted to kiss her to really kiss her and I think she wanted to as well I went to lean In but -

My phone went off so I grabbed it, it was my mum, y/n moved away a little when I answered

"Hi?" I ask

"Hello, were popping into the store after this did you need anything?" She asks

"Uhh no I'm good" I answered after a few more little things she hung up so I sighed putting my phone away "sorry" I told her

"It's okay" she shrugs watching the TV hardly looking at me we sat quietly for a while till I got an idea I yawned and stretched putting my arm around her making her laugh "really? The old yawn arm around Thomas? That's as old as the hills" she laughs

"It worked didn't it?" I shurg and she nods moving to wrap her arms around my neck so I wrapped my other arm around her waist sitting my hands on her waist she smiled licking her bottom lip as she looked at me I froze unsure really what to do but she moved forward pressing her soft lips against mine, it was like heaven to kiss her, her lips soft and smooth perfectly warm and just wet enough I kissed back best I could and she pulled me closer our kiss deepening as she tilted her head a little moving her lips against my own I kissed her back trying my best to keep up with her till we got into a slow and sweet rythum we kept like this for what felt like forever I never wanted to stop just then her tongue licked across my bottom lip I froze unsure how to respond I slightly opened my mouth letting her tongue slip in she played and toyed with my own so I did it a little to her too, she tasted like honey and apple juice and a little of the salt from the popcorn we had even eating till she moved it away so I slipped my tongue in her mouth and she played and toyed with me still even slightly sucking on my tounge which is what made me pull away

"Something wrong Thomas?" She asks

"Wrong? Ohh no, I just uhh need to get breath back honey" I tell her making her giggle more

"Your a good kisser Thomas" shs smiled

"Thanks, your a great kisser y/n" I told her "in fact could I uhh... Could I kiss you again?" I ask and she nods so I pulled her back and kissed her again still losing myself in everything about her I shifted a little in bed slightly uncomfortable when I felt it so I pulled away and moved away from her arms

"Thomas what's wrong?" She asks

"Ohhh uhhh.... Nothing" I blushed trying to hide it with my arms but I think by her face I think she might have known

"It's alright Thomas I know" she laughs "it has been poking my leg the last half hour"

"It has?" I ask and she nods "I'm sorry honey I didn't mean to-"

"Thomas it's alright, your a boy, I'm not surprised it happened I mean it was some pretty serious kissing" she smiled "I was expecting you to its alright"

"Your sure?" I ask and she nods

"I mean, you could always play around with me while we're kissing if you wanted" she smiled

"I I I I I could?" I stutter

"If you like to" she smiled "and maybe if you did I would play too and sort any problems that arise" she smirked

"Uhhh okay" I nod blushing very hard giving her another kiss she giggled giving me a kiss too soon enough we where back to making out I was about to move my hands and -

The door opened and my bedroom light clicked on so I quickly pulled away putting some distance between me and y/n

"What where you to doing up here?" My dad asks

"Nothing" i answered

"In your room? in the dark? In bed?" He asks

"Watching TV" she smiled

"Alright, you should head home now y/n, your parents will be worried" he said leaving my room and we sighed

"That was close" i blushed

"Indeed it was, my house tomorrow, we can lock the door" she winked getting her stuff

"Uhhh y/n, before you go... I- I really do like you, and if we're gonna keep kissing an stuff I I'd really like us to... Be something" I explain and she giggled at me

"Of course Thomas" she smiled kissing me "see you Tomorrow, my sweet boyfriend" she smiled

"Tomorrow, my beautiful girlfriend" I smiled giving her one more kiss before she went off home.

[infinitescul]

five times kissed / nick & may !

send me five times kissed for a drabble about five times our muses kissed  |  @prodiguile

1.

she doesn’t like her pigtails. they hurt her head, and makeher look silly. while amy loves having her hair braided and put up and pinned,may prefers her curls wild and free. so the instant her mother turns them loosein the yard, may yanks the pigtails out of her hair, and in the heat, her curlsstretch in all directions, as though fed by the hot summer sun.

“ mommy will be mad at you, ” amy scolds, her ownhair still securely held by little pink bands.

“ i don’t like them, ” may counters, sticking hertongue out at her sister.

“ your hair looks ugly, ” amy saysmatter-of-factly, crossing her arms with a triumphant smile on her face.

everything in the world freezes in that moment: the heat ofthe sun wrapped around the sisters, the sight of nick lounging on the swings,waiting for his playmates to join him, the savage smile on amy’s face. may’sbottom lip quivers once, before she bolts as fast as her short legs can carryher. she ignores the sound of amy’s voice calling after her, the smooth tone ofnick’s voice asking after them both. quick and agile, she scrambles up theshort tree in their backyard, and soon is hidden among the leaves.

here, she lets herself cry. wet and sticky tears coat herface as she cries silently, pressing her hair against her head with both hands,as though this will contain it. a moment later, however, nick’s face appearsamong the lower branches, slowly following her up.

“ go away, nick. ” she protests, hiding her facein her hands. she listens to the sound of groaning branches, whispering leaves.she feels as his weight settles onto her branch, just in front of her. hegently pries her hands away from her face, and she blinks at him. his wise,older face looks reassuring somehow, and nice. “ she said my hair is ugly,” the younger twin sniffles, twisting her hands together.

“ it’s not. ” nick tells her simply, reaching outto touch one bouncy curl. “ it’s fun. ”

nick is older than amy, may realizes. he’s smarter. how canher hair be ugly if nick says it isn’t? gratitude rising in her, she leansacross the branch to peck a kiss to his lips. he looks back at her, startled,and she laughs. “ that’s what mommy does when daddy says she’s pretty.”

“ oh, ” he says simply, looking as though he doesnot know how to react. “ okay. do you want to go play on the swings now?”

“ okay, ” she agrees, watery eyes now replacedwith a beaming smile.

2.

“ what are you doing out here? ” may blinks insurprise at nick’s lanky form leaning back against the building, his eyes onthe star. “ amy is furious. ”

“ good. she shouldn’t have bullied me into being herdate. ” he says, eyes slowly moving to find hers. “ did she make youtry to find me? ”

may joins him in leaning against the building, the coldcement eliciting a shiver where it comes into contact with her bare skin. she’sstill got a few inches on him, she realizes, though he’s been growing like aweed since summer. he’ll be taller than her again soon.

“ no, ” she answers his question after a moment.“ reggie ditched me to hang out with his friends. not that i was expectinganything more from a freshman dance. ” she shrugs the slight sting away.she’s not the little girl who cried at amy’s teasing anymore. she can handleherself.

together, the stand in silence, the stars twinkling at them.may shivers again as a breeze makes its way down the alley, tickling at herskin. before she knows what’s happening, a warm coat drapes around hershoulders, and nick is leaning against the building again, now only in hisbutton up shirt, as though nothing happened. she silently pulls it more snuglyaround her shoulders. it smells only of him, and it relaxes her somehow.

“ we should go back inside, ” she says afteranother quiet moment, though the thought of returning to the pounding musicalready annoys her. his head turns slowly back to her, his eyes dark andunreadable in the shadows. for a moment, her throat is dry, and something pullsher to him. they stare across that space at each other, unusually serious.

“ nick! ” amy’s shrill voice comes from outsidenow, probably from the parking lot around the corner. like that, the strangetension between them dissolves into familiar, shared irritation with may’ssister. absently, nick presses a soft kiss against her cheek, before goingafter amy. may watches him go, still wrapped in his coat. what was that?

3.

it’s their last night. that thought makes her dangerouslyalive, filling her limbs with electricity and her heart with wild birds. thewine isn’t helping, brightening her eyes and cheeks both as she laughs with himin the quiet seclusion of his father’s wine cellar. they have the whole houseto themselves, not a first, but it feels different this time. he leaves forcollege tomorrow. she’s leaving on the first train out.  the final night.

he looks beautifully messy, his hair askew and the winebringing a lovely flush to his skin. she wants to wrap her arms around him.perhaps her legs as well. she has yet to decide.

they drink straight from the bottle, her leaning backagainst the stone pillar, and him balancing above her with his arm resting justbeside her head. she moves to steal the bottle from his hand for another taste,but he doesn’t let it go. they stand there, laughter on their lips and lessthan five inches of space between them.

she’s never felt so alive as when their mouths crashtogether, both moving for the other in the same instant as years of hiddenfeelings come alive. this is wrong, she thinks, as she slides her handsinto his hair, brings her body flush against his. he’s meant to love amy.that thought ends when his tongue enters her mouth, his free hand grabs herhip, and she can taste the laughter in his mouth. no, this is how itsmeant to be.

they can barely keep it together as they fight to get out ofthe basement, a messy hurricane of hands and laughing mouths and bright, brighteyes. she bites the skin just behind his jaw, and he can’t stop touching herhair. they fall to the floor once, sprawling and grinning against the hardwoodas may shucks off her dress. it takes all of nick’s willpower to get them bothoff the floor and the rest of the way into his bedroom.

his patience is rewarded several times over, until the onlyword he remembers is her name, the only shape the curve of her smile. when,warm all over, she collapses beside him, she wonders if he knows what thisreally is: a goodbye.

4.

though he’s just as she remembers, she is changed. loss sitsheavy on her shoulder, and the sweet girl drunk on stolen wine and kisses isburied so far beneath this grieving woman. may isn’t sure if it’s grating orrelieving that he’s changed so little. when he bestows that same old smile onher, she leans towards relieving.

they dance around each other for a few days. may is carefulto never be caught truly alone with him, not after what happened the last timethey were alone. ( when he thinks of it, what does he remember? ) shedoesn’t want to speak of what matters, not when she ran from this thing betweenthem, from this life she never wanted. he never wanted it either, but here theystill are.

it’s the fourth time they’re together that she’s caught onher own. she fumbles with her keys, hands practically frozen from the numbingair. when she drops them, however, someone else is quicker to pick them up.even with fluffy white snow melting on his eyelashes, he still manages to lookdevilish. she takes the keys from him without a word.

“ you’re avoiding me. ”  he says. a matter-of-fact statement, noaccusation. her heart hammers anyways.

“ i’m not. ”

“ you are, ” he counters. may says nothing, merelywatching the snow accumulate on his shoulders. “ are you mad at me? ”

“ of course not, ” she chides, rolling her eyes.

“ then why? ” he asks, his voice as soft as theflake that lands on her cheek. to this, she has no response. when his hand touchesher cheek, she does not move away, but she does not accept it either. shemerely watches him, as though he might devour her at any moment. he movestoward her slowly at first, then all at once: his mouth on hers, and everyfeeling she has run from for years comes streaming back as he kisses her.

“ nick! ” she gasps when he gives her a breath ofair. in that moment, his cheeks cold, but lips warm with her stolen heat, helooks unsure for the first time she’s known him. “ you just… i can’tbelieve… in the parking lot… ”

she stammers out her protests despite how the only harm doneis everything she pretended she never felt for him has come back. he looksalmost sheepish, bathed in the yellow glow of the streetlights. another newcolor on him.

“ go home right now, ” she demands, pushing pasthim and climbing into her car. she glances back, sees him watching her driveaway.

5.

she circles the block four times before she finds thecourage to park and knock on his door. her lips are still swollen from hisunexpected kiss, her hair slightly askew as snow collects in her curls on theway up to his door. she bits her lower lip as she knocks on his door,apprehensive though it’s been a scarce ten minutes since she saw him last.

a heartbeat passes, then two, then he’s there. he looks asthough he’s half ready for bed, his shirt open at the collar, his shoes gone.for half a second, they look at each other, and then she’s in his arms, heropen mouth pressed to his. he embraces her fiercely. her nice dress from theevent is wrinkled between them, his mouth tastes freshly of toothpaste. shekisses with everything she has run from, with every feeling she denied.

when they pause for breath, his cheeky grin is back in aninstant. “ you know, ” he says, “ if you wanted to kiss me, allyou had to do was ask. ”

“ shut up, ” she tells him sternly, gripping hischin in one hand. “ just this once, i promise. just this once. let me knowyou care. don’t make this a joke, please. ”

without waiting for an answer, she presses her mouth overhis once again, as though she can kiss away the barrier of humor he uses. herfingers bunch in his shirt as he picks her up and nudges the door closed withhis foot. this, she supposes, is his response, for there’s no joke in the wayhe puts his mouth to her neck, or his hand sliding up her thigh. and that isdangerous too, because there’s no joke in her breathy gasps, her hands dippinginto the v of skin this shirt collar exposes. there is no joke, because therunning is over. it brought her right back to him.

[italianfish]

Here’s some things that I’ve overheard recently

- That bridge was created by erosion

- Holy tolino that’s a nice tree!

- Ivy! There’s the guy we don’t like (Trump in a car)

- Why wouldn’t you want to be king? You could get corgis, they’re adorable

- That’s not an allergy, that’s a life choice

- Are you that one guy? Are you DongleMc DongleSon?

- Woooo! CHEMEX!

- THE FURIES ARE COMING

- I NEED A BOYFRIEND AND A SWEATSHIRT

- I wonder what animal that is? Oh wait, it’s a log

- Just a cone, no ice cream. I don’t like ice cream

- My chicken BLT came without the chicken!

- I should have kept the headband from the tampons

- You’ve been reduced to a codename

- Hug, Marry, Exile, the Brucified sleepover game

- It’s just the toes

- Parf Tarts

- It’s crispy?!?!

- When I’m like, 60, I’m going to do drugs

- What really is life without watching Bob Ross?

- 13 YEARS!!!

- Stacy’s mom is Parker’s grandma~

- EmBruce it

- It’s not a water break, it’s a hydration break

- That bird is using a crosswalk!

- I don’t know any colleges in Massachusetts!

- What even is frick without frack

- I’m emotionally offended by your haircut

- That’s like a cat fart

- Someone just shat

- I’M NOT A CHILD PREDATOR DEANNA!!!

- I’ll sue that movie, they stole my idea (Just finished watching Hotel Transylvania 3)

- See, Amanda. That’s your noise

- My mom told me that if you sleep with your phone under your pillow you get fat

- If he were gay he’d be adorable

- He’s racist to chairs

- Flarion is my boob

- Don’t throw the ball at the referee, it’ll hurt his feelings

- Fuck yeah, your name’s Keith

- Can you deep throat a firecracker?

- Your earlobe is soft

- I would sell my toes for my old hair

- It’s like eating a period, NO

- What a funny looking animal (Giraffe)

- Giraffes are the most ridiculous animals

- Ew, keep your ebola away from me

- Look at that glass shard, that must be uncomfortable

- Do sloths have ears?

- Lip jellies freak me out

- A: I have three boobs (Sloth in shirt) B: I have uh.... Arthritis

- Instagram knows I’m lonely

- Knock on any Nonna’s door and tell them you’re Jewish and they’ll pity you and throw you a feast

- But this time it’s just the nose

- I want Granny panties

- Why do we only have confidence when our shirts are off?

- Why is an 8 year old twerking on my leg

- She has curves, you have rectangles

- I’m depressed, give me your water

- Dude! I look like a freaking lion!

- My loofa unraveled...

- I’m eating ramen with a singular coffee straw

- These walls better be soundproof (Amanda loudly singing in the background)

- I’m ready for my 4am Taco Bell runs

- Wifi in Spanish is wee-fee

- I didn’t see the body

- We should crochet together

- Yeah! I was a baby model.

- I don’t know if he likes me or if he’s just the gay best friend

- Have you pooped this week? You need to poop

- You’ve got all your limbs and you’re ready to go

- I need affection

- Diego’s eating rocks again~

- Wait. You’re instagramming my dog?

- I love letting people know what I’m up to

- It’s so funny, it’s like the ying and the yang

- You’re in my world now Grandma

- Two nipples? I don’t need nipples

- You are one gassy fellow

- You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up on our side of the bus

- I can never tell if you’re just depressed or listening to music

- I’ve got a photo shoot coming up for a calendar, for hot teachers with 6-packs. I’m October

- 38 on rotten potatoes!

- I’m hungry, I’m delirious

- DON’T PINCH MY CHUB

- I love clapping thighs in the evening

- Dude, I’m so ready to mingle

- Do you have a magician book

- Let’s taste those minerals

- The sauce is forever

- Why is everything so straight

- The right nipples don’t deserve rights

- We used to have a zebra and he was vicious

- Very important, I forgot shoes

- You look like a lumber snack

- A: I’m the only one here who looks like a hobo B: Really? Say that again A: We can be hobos together

- Woah dude! Can we take a picture of you? *Truck next to the bus*

- What were you guys doing? Bathing yourselves in the toilet?

- I want to be those people in Wii sports (The background characters that make the noises)

- Then we can have a dance party in a prison cell!

- Most of the bible sounds like gay fanfics

- It’s Frozen all over again!

- I have my metal bus on the straw

- My mom told my Dad to not be a weenie

- I’m going to build my house doors really short so you can’t come in

- Do you want to be black with me?

- Are you the black man?

- How did chutes and ladders go sexual?

- What if there was a rotisserie chicken hanging from the ceiling

- No one said Californians are smart, they’re just hippies who smoke weed

- Stop losing me in airport bathrooms

- What’s with those muscular kneecaps

- Queers doesn’t shake hands

- I’m drowning! I’m not even in the water

- Is this baptism?

- Breakfast doesn’t deserve grace

- It’s not just airport bathrooms

- Ice Age, watch it, absorb it

- I call first waz

- If you’re saying waz you’re not fancy

- I have so many bodily fluids to get rid of

- Don’t eat the lotion samples

- Why are our shoes not curved

- I’m just a fat guy so everything is delicious

- My name is Gay Fieri

- *Monotone iCarly theme song*

- I love Chipoodle

- The others are just Bat-ships

- You ever tie a banana to a tree?

- Can we have a fashion show?

- I’m gonna waz myself

- That’s the Death Star again

- Why do you have glitter on you?

- I smoke the mara-ja-wanna

- I have a gelato emergency

- This is our entertainment for the day (Watching a (probably) crazy man dance)

- I have a lot of questions about pottery

- Ever since I was a small child I have found myself goo-goo-ga-ga

- There are too many cans

- We need to stop canning beans

- Forks are way better than spoons

- I hate spoons

- Do you not want two hours of smooth jazz

- A man just stole my nut

- That’s a really bad name for a gay bar

- Is your tongue comfortable in your mouth

- I’m a penguin enthusiast

- He kept force feeding me marshmallows

- Why would you judge a girl by her neck?

- Are there shampoo bars?

- Why would you want a shampoo bar?

- Don’t burn down the house

- Halloween is my day

- You want to be hydrated?

- Are you kidding me? Right in front of my salad?

- We can still cartwheel into a fiery ball

- It’s your last day of camp, why are you trying to land a plane

- There’s a scale from dude to bro to sir

- Gotta vacuum the bird

- I’m teaching my rabbit spanish

- Ok, who got the cheese on a bun???

- I feel like a wet lasagna

- You can get a star for Jazz???

- I have 3 bottles of hand sanitizer

- A- We make children cry! B- NO WE DON’T

- A- Can I have chicken on a plate? B- Chicken on a plate? A- Chicken on a plate

- I want to go to band to get sweaty

- Proactive, it helps your face

- The cult meeting is next week from 2-7

- This is so vegany

- I HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THE SONG! NOT THE BEATLES!

- I have shrimp for later

- It burns my eyes, I love it

- It’s not that we hate you, it’s just that sometimes we can’t stand you

- Locked and loaded for a photoshoot first period

- This chalk keeps following me

- Kinda like a Starbucks atmosphere

- How dare she learn how to drive

- You have to sing our anthem with us

- It fits right into the squiggle

- I’m immune to hot sauce (Downs little cup of hot sauce)

- How was fake meatloaf?

- Can you train a fish?

- I haven’t worn pants in a year

- It smells like yogurt

- I have ties for every holiday

- There’s no laws on the moon, so like, you could kill someone???

- Optional means I don’t do it

- I’m gonna cook your dog!!!

- Is that where we almost went to park jail?

- We don’t condone sporting

- I want to turn orange

- Let’s make a buzfeed quiz that tells you what bridge you are

- (In Spanish) Where is the milk?

- If silence is gold, duct tape is silver

- A: So, what are you guys doing? B: Drugs.

- Young successful jewish boy

- A: I’m fun size! *Friend laughter* B: I’m just short...

- A: Where’s my medal??? B: Up your ass

- I’m a leech

- If anyone’s getting salmonella, it’s going to be me

- Does it involve backflips?

- I get to see all the little children getting confused as you disappear into a chair

- I think someone stole my balls by now

- A- A plastic knife can cut another plastic knife B- Why did you cut a plastic knife? A- Dedication!

- A- Oh my god! B- What does this have to do with god? C- *Whispering* Everything

- You’re probably going to die of liver

- I’m a five year old! You can’t have that profanity in here!

- Hey kids get in the van, we’ve got free wifi

- That’s worse than 10 babies hanging from a tree

- Are you from the piggers of creation???

- A- You’re like an old married couple B- (From the distance) He started it!

- I am a Jesus Christ in a person!

- YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MANY CHROMOSOMES THAT COST ME!!!

- I will implant a chip in your ankle! And you won’t know which one!

- I’M AN AVATAR! AIR! (Nothing happens) AIR! (Still nothing)

- When I was on a plane, we started dropping 200 feet at a time, the funny thing was that half of the plane had just gotten their drinks so half the plane was soaked

- Is Christianity a cult?

- A- Do you have experiences with holes B- (Very Unsure) Yes

- I’m her bitch, not your bitch

- He has the IQ of half a ferret

- A- Did you read the game manual? B- The gay manual??

- I want the pleasure of whipping you

- One time I poured a glass of apple cider vinegar and I drank it

- I changed my name to Johnyay West

- Too much damage done to the duner

- On a scale to 1 to Bill Cosby

- Ariana Grande is a criminal

- A- It’s sticky B- Can I take that out of context? A- No

- YOU ZIP TIED HIM TO A CHAIR?!

- It’s half past a freckle

- I need the crotch

- I don’t have imaginary friends. I don’t have friends.

- It’s like a mini fridge for pillows

- You hurt yourself with a stationary elbow

- My parents met at Burger King

- A- What’s the capital of Ohio B- Arkansas...?

- A- What do you do after school? B- Eat C- Sleep D- Cry

- Ask for cocaine, not Coca-Cola

- HOW HAVE YOU NOT TOLD US YOU MAKE STAINED GLASS?!

- You stole my meme bro

- A- Where you the one who drank chocolate sauce? B- (Seemingly proud) Yes.

- OW! MY CALVES!

- The Kardashians are necessary in our society!!!

- I feel like a homeless prostitute

- Ya wanna share a fork

- Now you have a pile of hot cheese

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

A Woman of Letters (Getting a Feel for Sam Winchester) - Chapter 10

Summary:  You’ve just opened an occult bookstore in Lebanon, Kansas, when you fall for a tall, handsome customer…literally. You soon find out that there’s more to the world than you ever suspected, including you. Discovering your heritage puts you directly in a witch’s crosshairs, though, so the Winchesters offer to take you in and teach you how to protect yourself. As you discover your own family history with the supernatural and your own hidden talents, you can’t help but wish a certain brother was as excited about your interest as you are.

Total length: 43 chapters, 70,247 words - Read on AO3 - Series masterlist

Chapter word count: 3044 words

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Canon-level angst and violence

Sam

Sam woke up alone in Y/N’s bed, reached over to the empty side of the bed, and felt cold sheets. He looked at the clock on the nightstand and realized he had slept later than he usually did. In fact, it was barely still morning. Sitting up, he realized he had slept better than he had in ages. As he went through his morning routine, he tried not to think about how nice it was to have Y/N curled up with him. It had been a long time since he’d shared a bed with a woman, even just for sleep. His mind drifted back… Amelia. Sam shook his head to try to clear those thoughts before they took hold. At least Amelia got out alive. She’s happy with Don, now. That’s better than most of his romantic partners. Sam purposely changed his thoughts since the head shaking had obviously failed.

After Sam was dressed he headed to the kitchen to look for food. He stopped short just inside the door when he saw Dean and Y/N hugging. Sam felt frozen until he saw them break apart, and then he was able to force his feet to move him over to the coffee pot. While he was getting his coffee, he heard Dean say something quietly to Y/N, then Dean’s heavy footfalls as he left the room. Sam sighed.

“I guess he’s still pissed at me, huh?” Sam turned to Y/N, who was leaning against the counter.

“Yeah. It was kind of a low blow, but he’ll get past it. I mean, I’ve only known him a day, but I can already tell he loves you more than he’s mad at you.” Sam felt Y/N’s words strike his heart. It had been a low blow, and he knew it. There weren’t many things Dean couldn’t find a way to joke about, but Lisa was definitely one of them. Dean had forgiven Sam for a lot over the years, though each time had been harder than the last. Sam wondered if maybe this would be the time Dean just didn’t. Sure, this was minor compared to the myriad of ways Sam had let Dean down in the past, but it could be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Sam sighed.

“We’ll see, I guess.” 

Y/N moved towards the door. “We’re going to head to my apartment to grab some things I’ll need. Do you want to come along, or…?” Sam’s eyes flew to Y/N’s.

“Your apartment? Really?” Y/N nodded and shrugged.

“Dean says he’s got a plan. I didn’t ask about it.”

“I’m definitely coming. You’ll need both of us if something’s waiting for you.” Sam followed Y/N to the garage, where Dean was already in the car. Sam got in the back, leaving Y/N in the front. “Dean, what’s the plan? Head over there with hex bags and guns at the ready and shoot anything with red hair?” As Dean pulled the car out of the garage, he shook his head slowly, then pulled out his phone. Sam sighed. Obviously Dean was still pissed. He just hoped Dean got over it if things went pear-shaped.

“Crowley? I heard a rumor your mother’s got the hots for my brother. It must run in the family. I know, I know, after she’s dead we go back to trying to kill each other. Meet us at the bar. See you in ten.” Dean shoved his phone back in his pocket and pulled the Impala out onto the main road. Sam watched Y/N’s face and almost chuckled. The look of incredulity was hilarious.

“Do you have the King of Hell on speed dial?” Although she seemed surprised, there was also a small smile playing at the edges of her mouth. Dean flushed a little pink and then smirked at her. Sam watched the flirtation and wondered why he suddenly wanted to deck his brother.

“How does the song go? ‘I got friends in low places,’ right?” Dean chuckled as Y/N laughed and Sam glowered at the two of them.

“Why does the fact that the King of Hell has a cell phone surprise me? I guess I always figured there’d be magical ways of doing things like that if magic existed.” Sam was still feeling grumpy, so let Dean answer the question.

“There are, but a summoning spell takes time. Demons make phone calls using blood, but really, burner phone is just easier. If you know who you’re calling is going to pick up, it’s not worth the bloodshed, quite frankly.” Y/N shook her head in amazement.

“I have so much to learn.” Sam felt his chest get tight at the thought of Y/N having to learn anything, and sighed. The car pulled into the parking lot of the bar, and the three of them got out and walked in, finding a booth near the back. Sam made sure he sat next to Y/N, keeping her safe on the inside, while Dean went up to the bar and ordered beers for all of them. As Dean was setting down the glasses, Crowley appeared behind him.

“Hello, boys. And girl.” Dean jumped, then turned to Crowley and grimaced. Y/N tried to stifle a giggle, but failed.

“What the hell, Crowley? I thought I was past people popping up behind me like that when Cas lost his wings!” Dean sighed and slid into the booth. Crowley slid in next to him.

“Just trying to keep you on your toes. If you’re going to go up against my mother, I need you sharp. Now, tell me, why is the newest member of your little club joining us for such a high-level discussion?” Crowley turned to Y/N with a charming smile that made Sam gag. “Not that I mind being in the presence of a beautiful woman, mind you, I just know how overprotective Moose and Squirrel can be about their girlfriends.” Sam felt Y/N stiffen and put his hand on her hand to calm her. He turned to Crowley and hoped he was giving him the bitchiest of all bitch faces.

“Never mind her, Crowley. Just tell us what you know about what Rowena’s got planned,” Sam barked. Dean smirked as a waitress brought over a large, fruity drink with about four or five skewered pieces of fruit and a teeny, tiny umbrella sticking out of the top. She set the drink in front of Crowley, and he stared at it for a long moment. Sam heard Y/N work to stifle another giggle.

“I see you remembered, Dean. You make me all warm where my bathing suit goes.” Crowley rolled his eyes and took a sip of the drink from the straw with a shrug. “What I know about Rowena’s plans is very little. I was able to intercede this afternoon because I travel faster than she does. I’ve had demons watching her, but she didn’t show her hand until it was almost too late.” Crowley looked at Y/N with what almost looked like sympathy, but Sam knew better. “I’m sorry about your shop. I do hope you had insurance.” Y/N nodded and smiled at Crowley, which put Sam on edge.

“I want to thank you for saving my life, even if you couldn’t save my shop,” Y/N said, quietly. Crowley’s eyes widened in surprise and he smiled at Y/N.

“Finally! Someone who understands the value of gratitude! Keep her around, boys. She can teach you lunkheads a thing or two.” Sam huffed angrily and glared at Crowley. Crowley kept his eyes coolly on Sam, as if egging him into starting something. Dean waved a hand to interrupt the stare down.

“Back to the matter at hand, you two. If we’re going to try to take Rowena out, we have to know where she’s going to be, and we have to find something that can kill her. Right now, Y/N needs supplies from her place, so we have to figure Rowena’s got her place staked out. As for weapons, we have bullets with witch-killing brew in them for distance shooting and Molotov cocktails of the stuff for close attacks. I say, we try to kill Rowena at Y/N’s apartment. We go in, pack up as much stuff as we can, and when Rowena comes after us, we take her out. If we kill her, then Y/N goes back to her life. If we don’t kill her, then we’ll have everything she’ll need for an extended stay with us while we find something else that can kill her.” Sam listened to Dean’s plan and had to admit it wasn’t all that bad.

Crowley’s eyes nearly bugged out. “You’re going to risk this beautiful young woman’s life by trying to take out Rowena whilst getting supplies? Are you joking?” Sam looked at Y/N and wondered if maybe Crowley was right. He started listing in his head everything she might need, and what other ways there were to obtain them. He felt his face flush at the thought of buying her bras and panties, and found himself shifting in his seat as his mind wandered inappropriately until Dean interrupted his train of thought.

“Look, she needs clothes, she needs personal items, and I’m sure there are other things in her apartment that she’ll want that aren’t replaceable. If what we have works, Rowena’s dead, Y/N gets to go back to her life, and everyone’s happy. If it doesn’t work, then we have a start on finding something that will work, and Y/N has what she needs for an extended stay with us. Two birds with one stone. ” The table got quiet while everyone took a long pull from their respective drinks.

“Look, it’s either this, or she borrows clothes from us,” Sam replied sarcastically. Crowley rolled his eyes and made a disgusted noise.

“If that’s your solution, Moose, it’s no wonder your relationships all end in the cemetery. They’d rather die than put up with you.” Crowley turned to Y/N and gave her a smarmy smile that made Sam cringe. “Darling, if you ever get tired of Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber here, I’d gladly keep you safe, and in a manner to which a lovely thing like yourself should be accustomed. Just because you have a 300-year old witch on your tail doesn’t mean you need to live in a hole in the ground that barely has indoor plumbing. You deserve satin sheets and chocolates on your pillow.” Sam groaned inwardly, but tried to keep his cool on the outside.

Y/N smiled and squeezed Sam’s hand. “Thank you for the offer, Crowley, but I’m fine where I am.”

Sam admired her ability to hide the nervousness she had to be feeling right now. “Crowley, just tell us. Will you help us or not?” Sam glared at Crowley and realized he was now almost crushing Y/N’s hand. He forced himself to relax his hand while he waited for Crowley’s answer.

“I can get her in and out unnoticed. We pop in, she packs, we pop out, and nobody would be the wiser. Then, once she’s out of the line of fire, you two idiots can go after Rowena on your own time.” Crowley had taken Y/N’s refusal better than Sam expected, still giving her admiring looks and smiling sweetly. Sam stopped himself from squeezing Y/N’s hand any harder.

“If you can pop her in and out, you can pop all of us in and out, Crowley.” Sam glared at the demon in front of him while Dean backed him up.

“Sam’s right. We’re not letting her out of our sight until we’re sure she’s safe. I don’t care if you saved her life yesterday, I still don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Either we all go, or none of us go,” Dean said. Crowley pretended to be offended by Dean’s remark.

“Dean, you wound me.” Crowley shrugged and nodded his head, though. “But, I see your point. Fine, I’ll pop us in, you three pack whatever you can, and I’ll pop us back out. If we run into interference, though, you idiots better shoot first and ask questions later.” Crowley sighed deeply and overdramatically, then took a long pull from his drink. Sam looked over at Y/N to gauge her reaction to this plan. He never expected what came next.

“Crowley, thank you for everything you’re doing for me. I know you don’t have to, and you’re putting yourself on the line for me, so I want you to know that I appreciate it. And if there’s something I can do in return, let me know, and I’ll do the best I can.” Sam and Dean both jumped and started talking over each other. Crowley waved a hand and both men lost their voices, opening and closing their mouths like guppies. Sam felt panic wash over him, and he clutched at Y/N’s hand.

“What I’m sure you’re overgrown protectors are trying to say is that making such an offer to the King of Hell is never a good idea. Now, I like you, so not asking you to seal that particular agreement with a kiss pains me greatly, but I won’t. Not that it wouldn’t be fun making Moose watch. I appreciate the sentiment, though, and will someday hold you to it. In the meantime, let’s get this show on the road. I have an underworld to run.” Crowley waved his hand again and both Winchesters groaned as their voices returned. “Let’s take this outside, shall we?” Sam took a deep breath, and pushed away his worry over what Crowley might ask Y/N to do in the future. Now was not the time.

On the walk out of the bar to the parking lot, Y/N gave Sam and Dean a quick rundown of her apartment, and where they could find bags they could use for packing. By the time they were outside, they had a plan for getting as much as possible packed up as quickly as possible. When they got to the Impala, Dean handed a big bottle with a rag sticking out of the top to Sam, and then put a similar bottle into an interior pocket of his coat. When he slammed the lid of the trunk shut, Crowley snapped his fingers, and the four of them found themselves inside Y/N’s apartment.

Sam took a quick look around and wished he could spend more time looking over her things. Today was not the day, though. The plan was set in motion, and Sam grabbed bags from closets, handing them to Y/N and Dean, and then following Y/N as she grabbed items and handed them to him to pack. Dean cleaned out the bathroom, then joined them in the bedroom to pack clothes. Sam took a bag and went through the living room, grabbing pictures and photo albums and anything else that looked important. In less than ten minutes, they were done, and as Crowley raised his hand to snap his fingers, the front door banged open and a man with blood dripping down his cheeks growled at them. Crowley snapped his fingers, and he and Y/N disappeared. Sam looked around the room in shock, seeing the same flash of anger and shock on Dean’s face. What the hell?

The cursed man was advancing on the brothers, and Dean quickly shot him in the head. The man’s head flew back while he took a step back, but he didn’t fall. As he straightened out to take another step closer, Sam and Dean both put two more bullets in his brain. After standing there with a dazed look on his face for a long moment, the man finally fell. Sam did some quick math in his head to calculate the number of witch-killing bullets they had left, but didn’t get to finish before he saw Rowena’s wild red hair turning the corner as she entered the apartment. Sam started firing at Rowena while Dean pulled out his witch bomb and lit the fuse. Sam fired one, two, three, four times, and Rowena simply raised a hand, making the bullets stop just in front of her and then fall to the ground. Dean, seeing that throwing something directly at Rowena wouldn’t work, instead threw his bomb at her feet, reciting the incantation as he threw. Rowena was obscured from view by a cloud of flame and smoke. Sam held his breath while the smoke cleared, and then let it out as he saw Rowena still standing there. She looked slightly green, and was taking heaving breaths, but she was still standing. Sam felt fear rising up in his chest as he fully realized he was about to die. Rowena was standing in the doorway of the apartment, and if there was another exit, he wasn’t aware of it. Even if there was a fire escape somewhere, Rowena could throw a curse before they’d get out the window.

Sam watched Rowena raise a hand to him and Dean, and just as she began to speak, he blinked, and he and Dean were standing in the bar’s parking lot next to the Impala, Y/N, and Crowley.

“Is she dead,” Crowley asked with a smug smile on his face while Sam and Dean caught their breath.

Sam huffed, glaring daggers at Crowley. “No. She stopped the bullets before they hit her, and the witch bomb only slowed her down for a moment.” Sam watched as Dean straightened up and his face hardened in anger.

“What the hell was that all about, Crowley? Another second and we would have been witch food!” Dean took a step toward Crowley, and Crowley held up a hand, stopping Dean in his tracks. Sam suddenly saw the family resemblance between Crowley and his mother and frowned deeply.

“I figured you’d want to take a crack at Rowena, but with the lovely Y/N safely far away. I brought her to safety, then got you. Would you rather I left her with you?” Crowley had a subtle smirk on his face while he looked back and forth between the brothers. Sam felt bile rising up in his throat.

“Call me when you figure out how to kill the bitch.” Crowley snapped his fingers one more time and disappeared.