#your father warned you there'd be days like this

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ I could never choose to love another (maybe one day I can learn to love you too). ❞

Gojo Satoru x male!reader | angst, unrequited love, arranged marriage | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 3.7K

warnings: minor mentions of homophobia, emasculation (r! is forced to wear traditionally female garbs due to "tradition"), angst.

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

"You were born bluer than a butterfly, beautiful and so deprived of oxygen. Colder than your father's eyes — he never learned to sympathize with anyone."

"You were born reaching for your mother's hands. Victim of your father's plans to rule the world. Too afraid to step outside, paranoid and petrified of what you've heard."

authors note: (whisper chanting) wedding, wedding, wedding *song on repeat: BLUE by Billie Eilish

Black was the colour of elegance, formality, and misfortune.

It’s resolute. Existing in carefully filtered hues of shadows. The colour swallows up everything. A sharp contrast to everything it’s put besides. Your eyes are naturally drawn to it. Then, like everything in nature, the colour black has its equal.

White was a symbol of good fortune, and innocence.

Just as powerful in the way it both lifts other around it and yet becomes the most striking. A balance in their nature.

They’re unifying colours. Opposites but equal. A dichotomy that humans have found themselves philosophizing over. Yin and Yang, they were two fishes circling each other in the pond; they belonged together just as much as they seemed totally opposite of each other.

You suppose that’s why you’re wearing white for your wedding and Satoru, black. A binding of hands, families, fortune and misfortune.

A tradition of celebrating a union of equals.

A lifelong partnership.

It feels more like a sham to you.

This ceremony was unneeded and unnecessary. You’re sure a simple contract would’ve been more than enough. But, as great clans of sorcerers, traditions were not to be taken lightly and you were marrying into the Gojo Clan of Japan. This elevates you and your family’s social standing — finally being able to suckle at the teats of High Society and their riches without having to strain your necks and stick your tongue like a runt.

You will be Gojo (Y/N), husband to the most powerful sorcerer in your lifetime and you will be grateful and content. You will be taken care of. Never worry about anything because you will be just as untouchable as your other half.

Despite these “truths,” your heart feels so heavy you’re sure it has dropped to your stomach.

Like a frenzy of snakes, your intestines have wrapped themselves around your frantically beating heart; coiling and squeezing because this feeling has not left you the second Lady Gojo had come to discuss what alterations you needed to make for your wedding garbs.

Your breath hitches as your servants carefully tighten the obi around your waist. Your arms are outstretched as the servants busy themselves with tending to you. Those dolls you’ve seen your cousins play dress-up and make-believe with, you’re beginning to pity them. The hands are invasive as they worry about the way the fabric is falling and if there are any wrinkles in sight; your hair was kept neat and out of your face for the hard wig they were putting on, they do this after they painted your face with powders and colours.

The bags under your eyes concealed delicately and your lips pampered so there'd be no imperfections in sight.

All the while, they say nothing about the grimaces of discomfort on your face. Simply nodding in approval once satisfied. They tell you they’ll place another layer of cloth on you and you tell yourself that you’ve been through much worse.

But the second that weight settles, you can smell the incense they burned at your mother's funeral. It’s strange how one's brain can make these correlations. Bridging a memory completely unrelated to now and ruining it.

The smoke glides across your face and up your nose. The burn of them makes your eyes water. That smell — no amount of flowers could ever get rid of that burning smell.

“Young Master, do you need anything?” their voice surprises you enough for tears to fall. The servants gasp quietly, suddenly concerned at the state of you.

As if you’re a doll that had just come to life in the middle of play. This servant has the most unusual hair, inky black but in a way that’s obviously fake as it shines unnaturally blue under the sunlight. You wonder what their real hair colour is, so your watery eyes look at their eyebrows.

Stained, no giveaway to the truth.

Their voice was deep but also gave nothing away. A truly androgynous individual, with the most peculiar haircut. Blinking away the tears, you shake your head and turn away.

“No, I’m alright. Just overwhelmed, and excited,” you chuckle. “It’s my wedding day after all.”

They weren't convinced. Those coral coloured eyes seemed to ripple; as if a stone had been thrown into a calm lake. The servant turns and coldly announces for everyone to leave the room. Your older servants, your mothers, squared their shoulders.

"The young master should not be left alone on his wedding day," she begins. Her voice giving you a minute sense of comfort. She was a kind woman. Loyal to a fault. She cared for you the best she could, offering you her shoulder to weep on when she told you of your mothers sickness.

"You forget your place among us, young one."

The peculiar servant regards her with a placid expression. Yet, when she moves to approach you, they extend their hand out to the side to stop her.

You look between the two of them as they openly glared at each other. They lean in to her ears, hair slipping forward like a curtain, and they whisper. Whatever it is that they murmured makes her skin turn pale. She whips her head, gasping as she stares at them in horror.

Then, you were alone.

"What was that?" your voice was heavy with trepidation. The servant assures you with a polite smile. "My job is to ensure you are alright, Young Master. The room was beginning to get stuffy. Please, allow me to dress you myself."

Themselves?

It took three people in order to create the padding around your body. Essentially mummifying you in white so your shape was not distorted. Then another two servants assisted in your wrapping, securing the padding to your body and tying everything into place.

Like a proper bride.

It was emasculating. But the elders were already unamused by the binding of two men in matrimony — they demanded the wedding remained traditional. You found it hard to care, wanting to get this over and done with already.

The servant tilts your head up, gently pressing a cotton pad to your tear line and offering another smile. They smooth out what they can of your robe, getting behind you and quietly taking off the clips around the rim of your collar. It helps you breathe, if only a little, and your shoulders droop.

You suppose there isn't much else to be added onto your ensemble. But you appreciate the care they're putting in refining the hair accessories on your wig, using the flat sides of a rat tail comb to ensure the lace front was pressed neatly.

"...It feels like a helmet," you confess dryly. "It looks like one, doesn't it?" You gesture to your head.

"A pretty one," their reply makes you chuckle.

"They dress me up like this in order to humiliate me and my clan."

Your fingers curl into fists. They tilt their heads, regarding your fists with a glance then moving to your right to check the state of the lace.

"Do you feel humiliated?"

You twist your head, your expression now warped with simmering anger.

"I'm a man." You seethe.

"A beautiful one." They remind you. Not flinching at the subtle warmth your palms are emanating. "Why should you feel humiliated when you look as beautiful as the rising dawn? Don't do that."

They lean in and your breath hitches. You're so close you can tell they've combed through their lashes with mascara, feel the hardened brush of them on your cheek as they whisper in your ear.

"Don't give those rotting old bastards sorcerers the satisfaction of looking at the top of your head."

When they pull away, you feel like you can breathe again.

"I will be placing the wataboshi for you, Young Master."

You nod, the ache in your shoulders disappearing.

Wearing white is to symbolize your bride's willingness to be dyed in the grooms colours. Satoru thinks that's a bit of a dramatic description. It sounds more ominous than it does romantic.

He grunts as his servants tie the endless seams and cords. Folding it, smoothing it out — Satoru feels more like fresh dough being kneaded than he does a groom. The servants hasten their pace. He feels worn out. A vein on the side of his head pulsing as he reminds himself to unclench his jaw.

He can see himself in the reflection of the tri-fold mirror before him. He looks proper. Dressed in a black haori, with the striking white emblem of his clan on either fold.

Willingness to be dyed in his colours?

He sighs, furrowing his brows to keep his eyes hidden away. A servant asks if he needs anything, he waves their concerns away and tells them to continue.

"Are you sure if this is what you wish to do, Satoru?" his mother's voice echoes in his mind.

"I won't allow him to be humiliated further because of my actions. I have to be responsible. I have to marry him."

"You have to marry him?" she arches a brow his way, lifting the cup of tea to her lips as she watches him.

"You're mistaken, Satoru. The only one with power in deciding if this marriage is not the (L/N) Clan. It's us. It's you."

(Y/N)'s decisions do not matter. You accepted his dowry. Refused any other, is what she's telling him. The Gojo Clan's status is leagues above yours. If you refuse to marry him, Satoru can't imagine the ridicule you'll face. Your father — and his new bride — would cast you out.

It sickens him how weak you are. Your social standing is already so fickle, your clan just beginning to shake the fleas of the lower ringed trash from its fur. You deserve better than this.

You deserved choices.

He had never seen someone more devoted to sorcerer politics than you. You were a good son, a dutiful son.

Yet, your fate is in his hands. If he rejects your hand, you'll be humiliated. If he continues this path, he fears for your happiness. You'll be forever tainted by Satoru regardless of the choices he makes.

Forever dyed in his colours.

He flutters his eyes open, straightening his shoulders as the weight of the kimono reminds him of your red-rimmed eyes. The day of your mother's funeral, your hands healing him and washing him away from grime and filth while Suguru's marks were still so dark and blooming.

What a good husband you'd be.

He can't allow you to be shunned by your family, by sorcerer society.

He has to save you. He has to honour you. He has to.

Because he loves you. He has to.

He has to.

For you.

He'd do this for you.

Satoru looked handsome. You can barely seen him from underneath the hood, keeping your gaze ahead at the back of a shrine servant's head as he leads both you and your soon-to-be-husband towards the shrine.

It rained a little earlier, the sky was no longer gloomy so it provided the scenery with a shimmering quality. The leaves of the old ginkos tree decorating the grounds with its golden and orange leaves; every sway of its branches speckling light onto the puddles of rainwater which makes it shine like a gem.

The servant with the peculiar hair, they held a red umbrella over both you and Satoru's hair as your procession continues.

"You look beautiful," Satoru says. You eyes widen. In all the hubbub, the chaos after your mother's funeral, your father's marriage, preparing for your own, missions slipped between here and there. You'd forgotten this side of Satoru.

This unabashed mouth of his. With that sharp curl and those perfect teeth and blushed lips. His voice sounds so light despite the heavy cloud that'd been lingering over your heads.

The Star Plasma Incident, Geto Suguru's betrayal, your marriage.

Your refuse to let your eyes water. If Satoru can be this strong, then you will be just as strong as he is.

"I'm sure you do to," he turns his head. Not that you can see it. Hence, the joke. Satoru smiles your way and you're glad this hood protects you from more than just wind, dust, and dirt. Because the sight of his smile would make your palms clammy and your heart flutter.

It gives you too much hope. It is your wedding day. Most would say hoping wouldn't be too egregious. You'll be performing your marriage before the shrine gods after all, praying to them for happiness and wealth in your future with your husband.

Satoru reaches for you, slipping his black sleeves through the divot of your elbow and steadying you as you climb the steps. From behind you, your step-mother awws at the display.

You're sure Lady Gojo is curling her nose at her voice behind her handheld fan. This fills you with a little vicious delight.

The gods should hate you for this, but you swallow down that guilt as Satoru hitches you closer.

You enter the Pavilion, admiring the architecture and care of the shrine masters and maidens. You feel hope building in your chest. Despite your best efforts, it begins to lift its head. This shrine has seen so many marriages. Such as the marriage of Satoru's own parents, and his parent's parents.

Despite being arranged, despite being loveless in the beginning, they seemed happy.

Your wedding robes descend on your shoulders again and the scent of incense wafts up your nose.

Your mother's final breath echoes in your ears.

You feel your throat close up.

The priest is announcing to the gods of your marriage with Satoru and all you can feel is nausea. He stands next to you and your head is held high, the elders and higher ups watch from the sides and you hope they can't see the way your mouth presses into a thin line.

Satoru is wearing black. He wore black to the funeral too and your mother, white. Your brain does that thing again — making correlations out of thin air.

You are not not a walking corpse. Satoru was not a man grieving. You are both getting married. You are supposed to celebrate. This is not a funeral. This is not an unfortunate event.

The shrine maiden before you offers Satoru a sakazuki dish filled with sake.

This ritual feels mocking. Satoru doesn't even enjoy drinking. His taste buds were akin to a child's. He prefers sweets, sometimes you marvel at how he hasn't gotten a cavity. So you wonder how his face is like when he takes his sips — despite the eyes on you, you turn to see.

He does not grimace. Not even a twitch in his brows. He takes one sip, the second, then finishes the sake.

His mother had told you that the first sip is to show appreciation to the heavens above and for their ancestors. The shrine maidens hands you a cup and you carefully hold it in your hands.

Fuck your ancestors. What have they ever given you?

Still, you bring the rim of the dish to your lips and take two sips, tipping the cup for the final one.

The second set of cups are supposed to symbolize you. The couple. It's a vow for you to care for each other for as long as you live.

Satoru's lips press over the edge, he drinks and drinks and drinks. He does not grimace, he does not falter. He closes his eyes, breathing out slowly as he hands the maiden his cup.

You watch. Entranced. Hoping to see a frown, a sign that he does not want this.

You take your cup and drink.

The third is meant for fertility. Both you and Satoru drink, ignoring the curl of the elders lips or the disdain in the others.

Fuck them, the both of you thought together.

You're offered a wooden comb and carefully wrap it in cloth before holding it between your palms, holding your pressed thumbs to your chest as you pray.

It is Satoru's turn to watch. He can see your lashes across your cheeks, the colour painted on your lips glimmering like the rain droplets on those golden leaves.

You were breathtaking.

When you stepped out of the car, he knew the old fucks were expecting a good laugh. Seeing you dressed in bridal garbs, with a veil, makeup and effeminate — they did not laugh. They drank you in, eyes widening at your beauty. It fueled Satoru with pride.

You're turning, Satoru blinks for a moment but turns to face you as well. You hold it between your palms and he cups his hands over yours. His large hands covering yours as he accepts the comb in front of the attendees.

This is a symbol of his determination, of his willingness, to make this marriage work.

He connects his gaze with yours and your lips finally part to allow you to breathe. He nods and your finger twitches for a moment but you give him the comb.

He then turns to offer it to the gods.

The sun is beginning to shine, clouds blowing away as you continue the next part; the reading of the vows to the gods.

He unravels the scroll, offering you the other end and you press your shoulders together as you both held it.

He reads;

"On this great day, before the Great Gods, we are wed. We are eternally grateful for this blessed ceremony. From today, we vow to love each other, to trust one another, to be there for each other for the good times and the bad; we promise that this will stay unchanged throughout our lifetime."

He reads out today's date. He reads out his title as your husband, then his name, and you swallow your nausea as you read out your title as his husband, then your name. You help him fold the paper back, hoping he didn't see how your hands tremble.

The shrine maidens come to your sides with a sprig of leaves. You both take it, hold the stem to between your fingers and the leaves to your head. Lady Gojo had told you this sprig would carry your thoughts and prayers through the end to the gods.

You hope they do not hear your cynical thoughts, your fears, your anxieties; you hope they can only feel the little bits of hope for happiness you're desperately wishing for.

Finally, finally, comes the exchanging of wedding bands.

Satoru's eyes softened as you slip his on. It's beautiful, intricate up close and simple from afar. The gem in the centre twinkling shyly under his gaze. You can't help but smile as he holds your hand in his, preciously slipping on your ring.

The silver glinting under the sun, as did the gem embedded in it. It was your favourite colour. He remembered.

The shrine maidens disperse, pouring sake into the cups of the guests and the both of you tenderly hold each others hands as you finally face them.

Gojo's parents watch on proudly, your father looked smug, his wife weepy as she blinks up at the heavens.

"Congratulations!"

They cheer, downing the sake, in celebration for your union and to Satoru's ascension as head of his clan.

You've done it, son. You imagine that's what your fathers expression is trying to convey. A well done nod sent your way.

You slip your fingers loose from Satoru.

"I know you're watching," Satoru grumbles as he slips his sunglasses on. The wedding was still ongoing, families dining together, and he excused himself for some fresh air while you changed into a more comfortable kimono.

"I felt it from the goddamn entrance of the shrine."

"He looked gorgeous," Suguru speaks from behind the body of a tree, twisting a gold leaf in between his fingers. "He's always been handsome, did those old fucks think putting him in white would be funny?"

Satoru does not answer. He simply stares at Suguru and yet, his wedding ring burns. He brings his gaze to it, flexing his fingers in an attempt to get rid of the phantom sensation.

"You here to give a wedding gift?" Satoru asks. Suguru turns and smiles. He had put his hair in a half-up-half-down hairdo. It suited him. A lot.

"Your hairs' gotten longer," Satoru's cheek twitch as the ring warms again. Suguru just offers a laugh, reaching into his robe and pulling out an envelope. He offers it to Satoru, who stares down at it.

"You actually gave us a wedding gift?" Satoru scoffs. Not yet reaching for it.

"It'd be rude of me not to."

"...Keep it."

Satoru tells a servant to speak from behind the sliding doors, effectively making them squeak in alarm as she stutters out that you're ready to step back into the fray.

"I'll be there shortly."

"Mah, Satoru — "

"Don't." He snaps out, glaring at Suguru.

"Don't." He says, softly now.

Suguru's eyes widen, his hurt evident as he gazes up at him.

"I'm sure your new church will need the money more than we do."

They say nothing to each other. Satoru turns to head back inside. Suguru's hands fall.

He hopes the Gods do not see this. He hopes the Gods can't hear how fast his heart is beating and how it breaks as he slides the doors close.

Satoru walks in just as you do. This kimono is less heavy, you move with a lightness in your step and no longer in stark white but instead in a gorgeous blue. The fabric dyed a darker colour at the ends to balance out the bright hues — the colour of your skin harmonizing the colours together just like your hair.

You looked at him, brows pinching at the sight of his sunglasses.

"Are you in pain?"

He should ask you that, shouldn't he?

After all you've been through, he should ask if you were hurt.

He shakes his head, smiling as he takes them off.

You're stronger then that. Pitying you, babying you, reopening the wounds you have — there was no need for that. You were his husband now, he will bare your burdens together. As he vowed to do in front of the gods.

He slips his arm through yours.

"Never. Not with you by my side, beloved."

You roll your eyes at him, ignoring how hot your cheeks feel at his lame attempt.

Maybe...maybe this could work, you tell yourself. Today went by so smoothly, it must be a sign.

Maybe you can be happy.

[bumblesimagines]

why did you pick me?

you'll never convince me to stay.

Lestat de Lioncourt

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

TW/CW: Typical IWTV warnings, toxic relationship (it's lestat lets bffr), (Y/N)'s European but its up to the reader which country, implied abusive family/father

New Orleans... 

He'd intended to make the city his new home and safe haven. It'd broken him to step onto that boat and part ways with the country he'd been born and raised in, but he'd always thought about traveling and finding something new for himself. At least it was what he told himself as America grew closer and he stepped onto foreign soil. 

New Orleans seemingly never slept, and its residents walked the streets at night just as they did during the day; providing him with the perfect reason to search for a home for himself with the riches he'd taken from his family home. It all felt perfect if he had to be honest. The music pouring out from each establishment filled him with joy and the desire to dance and while the people harbored their own judgemental thoughts, they acted as welcoming as a sweet old grandmother.  

But, of course, it'd all been too perfect. He'd been a fool to believe he could manage to evade the golden cage by simply flying an ocean away.

"I would say this is a fine upgrade from that little house you called home, no?" His voice, once lovely like silk on the skin, now sounded more like nails dragging along a chalkboard. It was light and amused, and (Y/N) could hear the smile when he spoke of his former home.. the very one he ripped from his arms. "There is even a piano for you to play, mon chérie."

"Do you believe a piano and a pretty house will make me stay after what you did?" (Y/N) tore his eyes away from the dancing fire to face him, a familiar heat burning inside his gut and traveling up to his chest. There'd been a time he found anger to be a fleeting emotion, one he buried down to focus on hope. 

The smile on Lestat's face faltered, his jaw clenching and eyes narrowing slightly. "I saved you. I saved you from that wretched family, that mongrel. I made it so no one else could ever hurt you-"

"Is that what you think? That I was some damsel in distress and you the charming knight? I can never return home because of you. Why did you pick me? Because I learned how to play the piano? Because you heard things no one else was meant to hear?" There was the prickly sensation of tears in the back of his eyes but he knew if he let them fall, it wouldn't be salty tears he'd be wiping away. Everything about the creature he'd been turned into was... foul. Disturbing.

"Oh, dearest," The annoyance on Lestat's face vanished, promptly replaced with pity as he crossed the room and delicately set his hands upon (Y/N)'s face with a gentle coo. "You are like the dazzling moon, glowing brighter than the stars and candelights. When people look at you, they marvel with splendid, and when you play... it is a gorgeous melody that must simply live forever. Tu es unique en ton genre. That.. family of yours hardly understood your light but I do." 

His way with words had always been charming, alluring even. But each time (Y/N) gazed into his eyes, all he saw was a mouth stained with red and the wailing screams of his mother discovering her husband's corpse. Lestat had paid her no mind, French intertwining with English on his tongue as he switched between anger and cooing until (Y/N)'s jumbled mind allowed him to take his outstretched hand despite the hot blood dripping from between his fingers. 

(Y/N) stepped back with a swirling head, dragging himself further and further from Lestat until he could breathe again. "You'll never convince me to stay." He exhaled shakily, his hand grasping the top of a chair. His fingers dug into the wood, hearing it begin to creak and crack. "I will not live with the monster who took my family, my life, away from me."

[ch3rriiii-bunn]

Personal maid

Paring: Tsugikuni twins x fem!maid reader

Synopsis: This is kind of a part two to this where the Tsugikuni twins have a 3some with you but in the hot springs.

Content warning: double penetration, public sex, sub reader, human Kokushibo (Michikatsu is his human name and will be used in this), manhandling, size kink, finger fucking, squirting, rough sex, some aftercare in the end

Word count: 2.7k

A/n: Me changing up how my content looks because I always make a change to everything I do once in a while>>> anyways enjoy!

"Y/n you've been requested by the masters to bring their towels. They're in the hot springs," a co- worker maid said to you. "Really? But I was just about to make them dinner," you sighed. It seemed like they needed you for everything, but you knew it wasn't an actual need. Just an excuse to get you out of actually maid duties to see you. They treated you more like a secret lover from their father than a maid.

"It's alright. I'll prepare their dinner. They just asked for you. Almost demanding, really," your co-worker giggled and tapped your back. "Thank you so much. I'll repay you." You bowed and then took your apron to look more presentable as you head to the hot springs. As you approached the hot springs, you noticed something strange.

It was quieter. Usually, there'd be more samurai in there, bathing together, and the twins didn't mind being in there with them. You open the men's changing room and peek your head. No one was there. You could only hear faint voices from the hot springs and look through the see-through door and make out Yoriichi and Michikatsu figures in the water.

You raise your brow and then turn your head to the side to see their towels are right there in the slots along with their clothing. You grunt under your breath in annoyance, but take a breath to not show them any disrespect and do your duties as a personal maid for your masters. You picked up their towels, and the slide opened the door.

There was never a day were the Tsugikuni twins didn't look handsome, but walking in to see them rest their muclar arms on the rocks, their wet hair out of a ponytail covering their broad backs almost made you forget why you were really here. "Pardon me" you cleared your throat, almost stuttering your words "I've brought the towls you've requested for" you started to take slow steps to make sure you don't slip from the water on thr ground and then put their towels on the rocks next to them.

"Thank you, y/n. I would've asked the other maid to assist us, but I like it better when we have our personal maid with us," Michikatsu said. He knew exactly what he was doing. Michikatsu isn't much of a flirt, but when he wants you around, he's a flirt when he wants to be. In reality, he just proves your point that he called you for nonsense and just wanted to see you. "Since you are here, why don't you join us? The water is nice and warm," Yoriichi asked while holding his hand out to you.

The thought of them seeing you naked didn't phase you. It was being naked in the hots springs with them, especially both at once. "I'd love to," you giggled and fiddled with the ends on your kimono. "We won't bite. It's best you take a bath now before getting back to work, right? We are doing the same," Michikatsu said, looking at you over his shoulder. "You're right," you said and started to untie the belt around your kimono slowly.

"Are you nervous y/n? You've taken off your clothes in front of us before," Michikatsu said and watched you take off your clothes slowly as if you're trying to hide yourself. "But brother. She's never done it in front of both of us at the same time, " Yoriichi said, moving his hair behind his ear. "Excuse me. I'll go put my clothes in the changing room," you bowed quickly and rushed inside. Michikatsu and Yoriichi looked at each other and just chuckled at your cuteness.

You come back out with just a towel around you and watched as both their heads turned to look at you. "That was quick," Michikatsu said as his eyes scanned your body, almost like he could see through the towel covering your body. You slowly take it off and walk over, putting your towel on the rocks and putting your foot inside. Yoriichi took your hand and helped in you, and Michikatsu took your other hand doing the same and having a hand on your lower back.

You rest your body into the water, sitting between them and sighed. Your head was about to rest back onto the rocks until Yoriichi put his arm around you "you'll get a headache if you rest your head on something so hard" He said, inches away from your face. "Yes, you're right Master Yoriichi," you said and looked down at the water, feeling very flustered between them.

Michikatsu chuckled. "You're so obedient even when we treat you. You're welcome to call us by our first names right now since it's just us three together" Michikatsu said in a flirtatious way when he spoke to you and having his hand touch yours underneath the water. Nothing much was done further from that. Their touch was just innocent, and their musclar bodies closed you in between them.

It was silent for a moment. The only sounds that were made were the water waves every time you or the twins moved around and when they repositioned their hands on your body. "How long do you usually soak in for?" You break the silence to start a conversation, knowing that things would escalate further. "About 20 minutes." Yoriichi said as he leaned closer. "However, I want to soak longer with you," he whispers in your ear.

Your ear tingled from his breath on your ear lobe and his deep voice whispering in your ear. Yoriichi then takes his hand and places his fingers underneath your chin to turn your face towards him. "I see," you said with rested eyes and turned your whole body towards him in his hold. "I want to soak with you longer as well." Michikatsu sits up enough to grab at your hips.

"Michikatsu..." Your eyes turned away from Yoriichi and looked to the side when you felt Michikatsu grab your hips to pull your lower body back onto his crotch. You gasped softly when you feel his cock press on your ass. You felt it throbbing and felt it getting harder as he kept himself pressed there.

"What do you say y/n? Want to soak with us longer," Michikatsu asked and grinded himself on your ass. "Yes," you said, and as soon as you did, Yoriichi squished your cheeks together and pulled you into a deep kiss. You hum and put your hands on Yoriichi's chest. Your lips parted open as Yoriichi slipped his tongue inside your mouth, letting out a deep hum as his tongue tasted yours.

Michikatsu's hands move from your hips to your tits. His big hands cups each tit and began to massage them and chuckles as your nipples harden in his palm. "What if someone walked in right now and see what a slut you are for us" Michikatsu teases and brushes his lips on your nape. Yoriichi pulls his lips away and kisses your nose "brother is just teasing" he said as his other hand went into the water and found its your pussy.

"Yoriichi.." Your thighs rub together as his hand cups your pussy "we told all the samurai to take a bath before us and not come back for the night" Yoriichi said and uses his two middle fingers to rub your clit in circles. "Haah-" you moan and then bit your lip as your voice echoed "no one's going to hear you but us beautiful" Yoriichi said and continued to play with your clit with his thick fingers.

"Be as loud as you want. You tend to get loud when you're enjoying yourself." Michikatsu kisses your neck again and begins to suck on your skin hard while twisting and pulling on your hard nipples between his fingers. "Michikatsu, you always leave marks. Its hard to hide them," you whined and grind your hips forward on Yoriichi's fingers, "and you still love it." He chuckles as he watches your skin bruise, forming into hickeys.

"Lift her up, Yoriichi," Michikatsu said. You didn't have time to process his words when Yoriichi easily picked you up, out of the water and onto the rocks. "Open your legs," Michikatsu said as he stayed in the water, but Yoriichi lifted himself out to sit neck to you on the rocks. "Let us see your pretty holes," Yoriichi said as he kissed your cheek.

Michikatsu watches you open your legs, and then he sticks his fingers inside his own mouth, lubricating them with his salvia before rubbing it against your hole. Yoriichi's hands go back onto your clit but this time, sliding his thick fingers up and down between your folds before slipping them inside your soaked pussy. You moan at the feeling as his fingers begin to thrust inside you.

"Bare with me. It'll hurt, but I'll make the pain go away, " Michikatsu said as he kissed your inner thigh and slid a finger inside your hole. It was tight. Your torso flexes and you groan from the pain of your asshole being stretched by one finger but as Yoriichi's fingers curled inside your pussy, poking at your g-spot. Luckily Michikatsu's finger didn't hurt too bad since he lubricated his fingers with his salvia and Yoriichi fingering your pussy soon make the pain turn into pleasure.

Michikatsu groaned lowly as his cock twitched under the water as how tight your asshole is from just one finger. He fingers your ass slowly, moving his finger in and out to open you up more. Once you've adjusted to one finger, he leans closer to stick out his tongue, letting more of his saliva drool out to lubricant your hole and add a second finger. "I can feel you getting so wet and sticky from my fingers fucking your pussy" Yoriichi said and watches your mouth hang open with moans leaving your throat.

"If your pussy keeps getting this messy, brother won't have to keep using his saliva and dry out his mouth" Yoriichi said and starts to thrusts his fingers inside you faster. "Ohh~ S'too much. Haa~" your hips buck, and you clnech on Yoriichi's and Michikatsu's fingers. "Relax." Michikatsu grunts, "but you're loose enough." He said and forced a third finger inside your asshole and curled them to open you up more.

"You're doing so good. Just take our fingers alone." Yoriichi said, also adding a third finger inside your pussy. You gasped loudly and your hands pressed down onto the rocks to support your body, and your head fell back as you felt their fingers opening your gummy wet walls up and poking your g-spot at the same time. "M'gonma cum.." you whine and your thighs shut together as you squirt from your pussy.

They didn't stop until you were done squirting and then slowly pulled their fingers out of your holes. "Tired?" Michikatsu asked as Yoriichi jumped back into the water. "n-no." You answer and lift your head back up, feeling dizzy from the intense orgasm. "Good," he said and grabbed you by the hips and pulled you back into the water "Michikatsu please. Give me a minute so I can stand-" you tried to say, but he turns you around and picks you up by your legs and spreads you open, exposing yourself to yoriichi.

"Your pussy is just throbbing for me..." Yoriichi takes his cock and slides his vainy shaft through your folds and his tip poking your thobbing clit. You whimper at the feeling and your insides throb, begging for Yoriichi to put it in. "I'll go in first. Then I'll hold y/n so you can go after," He said to Michikatsu as he pushed his tip inside and then the rest of his thick length, making you moan in relief that your clenching on something bigger.

Once Yoriichi adjusted himself inside your gummy walls, Michikatsu passed you to Yoriichi like a rag doll. He couldn't wait anymore. He wanted to inside your ass so badly that when Yoriichi held your body in his arms with his cock still inside your pussy, Michikatsu smers his pre cum on his hole and then slowly pushes his length inside.

"Oh my g-god!" A high-pitched moans leaves your throat and you cling onto Yoriichi as Michikatsu's big cock pushed past your tight walls. "Ngh... still so tight. It doesn't hurt, right?" He asked as his hands cup at your ass to hold your body up with Yoriichi. "It doesn't~ S'just so much!" You slur your words, feeling so full, and you wiggle from the feeling. "Y/n, if you do that, I can't give you time to adjust," Yoriichi said as he grinded his hips with yours.

"It's okay~ just fuck me. Don't stop." You moan as you felt them hitting your deep spots with their slow yet hard thrust. "Feels good now?" Michikatsu purs in your ear and you bit your bottom lip, nodding to his question "So I can fuck you harder yeah?" He said and pulls back, almost all the way out and slams back into, making your body jerk forward.

You let out a loud moan. It echoed out, but you didn't care. You cared more about being rammed by these two, big handsome twins, then if anyone heard you. The water splashes violently as thrust their hips, smacking their skin with yours as they fuck you faster. Michikatsu smirked "This is your frist time getting fucked in the ass and you're loving it so much you can't stop moaning like a whore. A good- fuuck.. a good fucking whore" he bottoms out and starts pounding his cock in ass harder.

"Your pretty tits keep bouncing in front of me and all I can do is watch" Yoriichi moans as his hips snap faster, making his tip kiss your cervix as he fucks you balls deep "I want to suck on these nipples and feel you clench down on my cock. Haa~ but your pretty holes are already doing that when we tell you how good you're taking it," Yoriichi said.

You whimper at Yoriichi's words and look at him with your fucked out face and teary eyes. "Rub your clit~ beautiful. I know you can do it. We got you," Yoriichi said and you do as he says, letting a hand go off his shoulders to rub your clit and whimpering louder from the over simulation "good girl. Keep doing that until you cum. I love seeing you play with yourself when I fuck your pussy" Yoriichi's breaths became heavier and his moans grew louder, coming close to an orgasm.

"Michikatsu.. Yoriichi~" You moan their names repeatedly as your head falls back on Michikatsu's shoulder and your hand rubbing your clit faster in circles. "That's it. Go dumb on our cocks. Want us to cum inside you? Fill your holes up with out cum?" Michikatsu whimpered softly in your ear as his nails dig into your skin. "Yes.. yess yes!~" You cry out, begging for them to fill you up with your cum and then did just that seconds after.

Michikatsu wrapped his arms around your waist as he made a finally thrust and shoots his load deep inside your ass. Yoriichi made a couple more sloppy thrusts, pushing your thighs back as far as he could in his brothers hold and cums inside your pussy, moaning continuously until he rides out his orgasm. You scream in pleasure as your legs tremble in Yoriichi's hold, sqirting again but this time on his abdomen.

Michikatsu stays inside you for a second until he pulls out but still holds your body. Yoriichi kisses your tears and then your lips. "Are you okay?" He asked and slowly pulled out. You gasped when they pulled out and then felt their cum leaking out of you "I'm fine" you smile at Yoriichi. Michikatsu kisses your shoulders and then closes your thighs together to hold you vridal style.

You wrap your arms around Michikatsu's neck and give him a kiss on his lips. Before coming out of the hot springs, the twins made sure to clean you off and then bring you into the changing room with them. "Let's go eat. You should join us and have some food and tea after that," Michikatsu said, and Yoriichi helps you into your clothing. "Thank you. I'll definitely join you.

[creepswrites]

MASK OF HATE | Michael x Reader

a long awaited rewrite of my favorite fanfic i've written... i've come far since my first time writing it and i'm so so happy to be able to recreate my pride and joy!! if you want to see the original, here it is! but i'm thrilled to rewrite it and i hope you all like it :)

MICHAEL MYERS X FTM!READER (he/him)

SUMMARY: The jumpsuit he wore made you think that maybe there'd been an accident with a car or something? You weren't sure. It wasn't likely he'd gotten himself out this far with a wound that bad but you couldn't really think straight to work out logistics. A man was injured and he needed help and that's all you could focus on at the moment.

WARNING: graphic depictions of violence & injuries

NEXT

The smell of wet earth enveloped you as you made your way back home. The earlier afternoon rain had let up long enough for you to walk home from work, a long day spent at the farmers market and plant nursery. It was rewarding work and one of the few jobs you'd actually wanted to be hired at. Your family had moved here a few years ago and you'd fallen in love with the town instantly. You and your father lived on the edge of town, more in the woods than the city itself, but not too far that you had to go out of your way to go to work. Even after you graduated, you still hadn't moved out. Why would you? You helped pay rent, shopped for groceries, and could tend to your garden.

It was, as far as you were concerned, the perfect location. A lovely little house surrounded by trees and bushes of flowers, overgrown with vines, and a stepping stone path that led to the front door. The house itself was covered in a dark brick with the inside a beautiful white with dark wooden floors that smelt of books and fresh fruits and vegetables. And sometimes the smell of rain leaked in when you left the windows open.

So no, you had no intention of moving.

Today was one of those days where you'd get the house to yourself. As the current chief of police, your dad was known for working late nights and leaving you to your own devices for a few days. With Halloween coming up, the police were on edge. Rumors were circling in the station that Michael had escaped again but couldn't confirm yet. They were avoiding telling the public until they were sure.

You always enjoyed walking home more than you enjoyed driving. It gave you a chance to think while enjoying music in your headphones, hopping along to the beat. You were weighing your options for dinner in your mind as you got closer to home when you felt a sense of wrongness wash over you. When your song came to an end, you lowered your headphones to hang around your neck as you scanned the nearby area with scrutiny.

The smell of iron reached you in a soft breeze that brushed your clothes and skin. Coyotes weren't unheard of but you didn't exactly have a way to defend yourself if they got any closer. Not to mention there was the chance your cat had gotten out.

You picked up the pace, grimacing when the smell grew stronger and stronger. Had your head not been on a swivel, you would have missed the way the bushes shook. You froze, swallowing hard as a man stumbled out of the treeline and onto the paved street towards you. He was tall, dressed in a dark blue jumpsuit and a white Halloween mask that rang a bell in the dark recesses of your mind. But you were too prioritized by the gunshot wound in his side that bled copiously, staining the jumpsuit in dark blotches.

"Are you okay?" You gasped, watching the man stumble for balance. He just made a grunting sound so you rushed forward to catch him by the shoulders. "Oh fuck, okay, uh, I might have a first aid kit at home. It's not far, c'mon." You said, trying not to panic. God knows how this dude was even standing with how much blood he'd already lost. But you slung his arm around your shoulders to practically drag him along. He was silent, which unsettled you slightly, but you didn't have the time to be unsettled. This man was possibly dying and that was far more important to you.

Did you need to talk to him to keep him awake? You were worried that if he did collapse on you, you wouldn't be able to move him. "How'd you even get an injury like that?" You tried, jostling him a little. The size difference was glaringly apparent like this but you did your best to move him. "You're lucky I live near here. Don't want to imagine you bleeding to death out here in the woods alone."

The jumpsuit he wore made you think that maybe there'd been an accident with a car or something? You weren't sure. It wasn't likely he'd gotten himself out this far with a wound that bad but you couldn't really think straight to work out logistics. A man was injured and he needed help and that's all you could focus on at the moment.

The walk home felt like hours but you finally pulled him up to the back door, kicked the rickety old screen door open with your foot, and practically dropped the man on the floor against the counters. No way were you carrying him up the stairs, especially not when he could track blood all over the carpet. You threw your bags aside and ran upstairs to the bathroom, hurrying past your cat Mayhem who cried in hunger. "Later." You said quietly as you began rifling through the cabinet under the sink. "I should clean this out later."

First aid kit in hand, you tore down the stairs again and came to a stop in the awning of the kitchen. The man was slumped over where you'd left him and you took the brief moment to get a better look at him. Dirty, brown work boots that were covered in grass stains and wet mud had left a small trail of dirt alongside the blood drops. The jumpsuit was mostly clean except for what looked like oil stains and the blood on his side. As you approached him, you noticed blood staining his sleeves in streaks too. Odd. You made a mental note to check his arms when you were done.

You knelt down in front of him, close enough that you could hear his frantic breathing. Like he was attempting to stay awake. "Can you tell me what happened?" You asked softly, clicking open the first aid kit and reaching for the zipper of his jumpsuit. When he flinched away, you froze. "I'll need to unzip you in order to take care of your wound."

He stared at you. Or you assumed he did. The black voids of the eyeholes left much to be desired.

"Just give me a nod." You sighed.

A moment passed but he finally nodded. A small little motion that you would've missed if you hadn't been looking. You gave him a little smile and unzipped the jumpsuit to his waist, careful to avoid brushing against the wound as much as possible. The black tank top underneath had ridden up slightly which made your cheeks warm. Stuffing that down, you helped him carefully shrug his sleeves down so you could better see the damage.

It was hard to see what had happened with how much blood covered his skin. So you reached into the kit, using one of the little sanitizing wipes on your hands before grabbing the disposable gloves. "Okay, uh, I'm not exactly a doctor so just let me know if the pain is too much, okay?" You gave him a nervous smile before hiking the tank top up more around his chest to let you wipe down the skin with a clean wet wipe.

The amount of blood was almost ridiculous. But you were eventually able to make out what was undeniably a gunshot wound. "Who the hell shot at you?" You mumbled more to yourself than to him. But he still gave you a tilt of his head as though answering. "At least the bullet went all the way through," You sighed, looking between him and your supplies as you tried to figure out what to do. "Okay. Let's… see what I can do."

You didn't know anything about gunshot wounds, much less how to clean them. But you'd helped patch your dad up when he stuck himself with a fishing hook so you figured it couldn't be that much more difficult. Anything was better than letting it get infected. "Sorry," you said softly before giving his hand a squeeze, "This is gonna suck."

And you poured the hydrogen peroxide on both ends of the wound, wincing at the pained grunt he let out. You kept apologizing as you fumbled around for the needle and thread, also dousing that in the peroxide before you tried to stitch him up. Sewing had never been a skill of yours but it was the best you could offer him. At least until you could get him to a hospital. You pressed gauze at either end of the wound before wrapping him tightly in bandages. "I think the wound is supposed to drain? I think I remember hearing stuff about that. We'll have to keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn't get infected." You tried to give him a reassuring smile and sat back to view your handiwork. It was probably sloppy, yeah, but at least it was cleaned and covered.

It could've been much worse.

"Can you pass me one of the wipes?" You asked, holding up your bloodstained hands and giving him a toothy grin. "I don't wanna stain everything with blood."

He offered you a blank stare before reaching slowly into the kit and handing you one of the little packages. You tore it open and got to scrubbing. "I'd give you a sucker for being a good patient if I had any. Would you take dinner and a shower instead?" You scooted back to clean up more, letting him stand on shaking legs. "My dad shouldn't be back till late. But he should be able to drive you to a hospital once I explain-"

At that, he shook his head violently no. "No, what?" You paused, brow furrowing. "No hospital?" He gave you a nod. "I'm not exactly a doctor. Your injury probably needs more than my below average sewing skills and half a bottle of peroxide." But still, he shook his head. "Fine. Okay. No hospital." You sighed loudly, giving him a quick once-over. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

He tried to pull away but you finally saw it: a spot on his opposite shoulder where he'd been just grazed by a bullet. More a flesh wound than anything, but you'd missed it in your stitching him up. "Alright, c'mere mister," your tone was light as you raided the kit for more gauze and bandages. "Got anything else you're hiding from me?" You gave him a playful smile as you wrapped and cleaned his wound. "It doesn't look too bad. I'm way more worried about the gunshot wound." You trailed off. "I wasn't kidding about dinner and a shower though. My dad's got clothes I bet could fit you. Though the pants may be a bit short." He gave you a calculating look as you shrugged. "At least until I get your jumpsuit washed."

The two of you just stared at each other for a while. His head tilted slowly in confusion and you couldn't help but snort. "What, you think I'll just patch you up and throw you out? Not a chance. C'mon," you took his hand and led him towards the stairs. Mayhem had ventured downstairs and began to sniff you both over, hissing at your guest despite your soft scolding.

Once inside the bathroom, you tossed the first aid kit back in as the man took a look around the small space. White tiled floors and faint, floral wallpaper framed a huge mirror, spanning the distance of the smooth countertops. You pride yourself on keeping the bathroom clean, so you only winced slightly at the dirt on the work boots that left a small trail of dirt behind. "I'll get you some clothes if you want to get undressed. I don't mind washing your clothes for you." You gave him a smile, sidestepping him to slip back out into the hall. "A shower might help you feel better. Just try to avoid getting your bandages too wet."

You left him in the bathroom and slipped down the hallway to your dad's room. A rifling through his dresser earned you some plain sweatpants and an old, black shirt you knew he wouldn't miss. Worst case scenario, your guest bled all over the shirt and you'd have to throw it out.

Heading back towards the bathroom, a realization came to you. "Hey, I'm sorry, I don't think I introduced mys-" You froze in the doorway, words dying on your lips. The man had his back to you and had shrugged the jumpsuit off the rest of the way, his boots laying near the doorway by your feet and the blue material like a puddle around his ankles. His shoulders were broad and you could make out tiny scars that littered his forearms and shoulders. His mask had remained but that wasn't what surprised you.

He didn't have underwear on.

Your face felt like it was on fire as you slammed fresh clothes down on the counter, pointedly not looking at him. "Alright, here's your clothes, bye!" It felt like your words slurred together as you slammed the door behind you, leaning against it with an embarrassed sigh.

Once you heard the water turn on, you went downstairs to clean up the kitchen floor, grateful the blood hadn't dried too much yet.

Mayhem, having decided you'd spent long enough fussing over your guest, began to complain and shout for his dinner. "Alright, you needy thing, c'mere." You scooped him up and pressed a kiss to his fuzzy head. "Let's get you fed and then see about feeding our guest, yeah?"

Mayhem meowed, as though enthused only about the coming tuna.

The man took his time showering but you didn't really mind. He certainly needed it. Plus, you could empathize there - showers always made you feel much better too. In the meantime, you'd snuck back upstairs to grab his clothes and toss them into the washing machine. When you'd gotten a good look at his clothes, you recognized the auto mechanic company logo on the jumpsuit. "L. Smith?" You'd wondered aloud, frowning to yourself. "Pretty sure I'd tutored his kids when I was a junior…" But he didn't look anything like Lawrence Smith. "Maybe it's just a common name," you had mumbled. Something about this whole situation felt off but you couldn't exactly place why.

You shook your head slightly and sighed, trying to dismiss a nagging feeling you had in the back of your mind. Sparing a glance down at Mayhem, who brushed against your leg insistently, you frowned. "You don't think this is Michael Myers, right?"

Big yellow eyes blinked up at you and you sighed, chewing on your lower lip. Not much about the Myers case was made public beyond his crimes and his mugshot. Your dad had refused to divulge anything to you about the case and you'd only managed a quick peek at crime scene photos. Nothing about the way the man had been dressed or anything like that. Besides, it had been so long since that night that any details you could have seen have been lost to time.

"Impossible." You decided with a shaking sigh as you opened the can of tuna, not even believing your own words despite their conviction. "There's simply no way."

The sound of thunder outside was a welcome distraction from your thoughts. The rain had always been peaceful to you, the smell of wet earth and the chill breeze from the window had you relaxing. You smiled, whistling for Mayhem to come get his dinner and slipped past your hungry cat into the kitchen once again.

Cutting the vegetables and boiling pasta was peaceful, a wonderfully monotonous task you could just get lost in with the soft white noise of the rain. You would have missed the sounds of the shower turning off if you'd been any more zoned out. You had just taken the tomatoes out to cut them up when you heard heavy footsteps behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder and took him in. The sweatpants had stopped just above his ankles, which you had expected. What you hadn't expected was the way his broad chest filled out the shirt, struggling to hug around his biceps. You turned back around to hide your swooning, biting your lip hard to keep yourself from smiling like a fool. He'd put the mask back on but you couldn't even bother to give it a thought.

Swallowing, you cleared your throat. "Are the bandages alright?" You asked, turning your attention back to the tomatoes. He didn't say anything but, then again, you hadn't really expected him to. "Pasta's boiling right now so dinner should be ready in a few minutes if you want to sit down." You gestured to the nearby dining room table with only a few chairs pulled up. But you didn't hear him move. The feeling of eyes on the back of your neck made you tense for a moment but you brushed it off. If he needed something, he'd let you know, right?

As you reached for a knife, his hand shot out and covered yours. You weren't even aware he'd gotten that close and you jumped in surprise. The eyeholes of the mask bore into you as you turned to look at him once again. "Do you… want to help?"

He just tilted his head, as though bewildered by your offer.

You move your hand aside to let him grab the knife, stepping to the side to give him room at the cutting board. "You just have to make them into small chunks. Try and get them around the same size, I'll get the garlic going." You hummed, your fingertips barely grazing the extra knife before he grabbed your wrist tight, jerking your hand back. A surprised yelp left you as you stared wide-eyed up at him, noticing the way he white knuckled his own knife.

Something about this was very wrong.

Swallowing back your terror, you held eye contact with him, the two of you locked in a standstill. The room was silent except for his heavy breathing, barely audible over the pounding storm outside. Soft bluish grey light cast shadows on his face, making the eyes of the mask seem like bottomless pits. Everything felt frozen in time as the two of you stared at each other.

You were the one who broke the tension, reaching over with your free hand to uncurl his fingers from your wrist as casually as you could. Anxiety pounded through you when you heard his breathing hitch. "Don't worry," you gave him a weak smile once you were freed, "I have every confidence in you." You said, giving a weak gesture to the tomatoes laying on the cutting board. You slowly moved towards the stove to set about roasting the garlic cloves, trying to appear as calm as possible while he continued to stare you down.

You only let your shoulders drop when you heard him start slicing.

Making the rest of dinner didn't take long, especially with your guest's help. He seemed unwilling to leave you alone now, hovering around you as you finished cooking and plating dinner - pasta with garlic sauce and dried tomatoes - and only retreated to the living room when you'd reassured that you were right behind him. He took a seat on the couch and you caught him staring at Mayhem comfortably sprawled out on his favorite chair.

"His name is Mayhem," you told him as you sat beside him, setting two water glasses down before digging in. "He won't bug you, he knows he's not allowed on the couch."

The man's head turned slowly to look at you, letting you get a brief sight of one of his eyes: a blue-green color that looked almost hazel in the darkness of the mask. You held in a soft gasp and turned away, trying to push the idea that the man was pretty from your mind. You hadn't even seen his face for crying out loud! Much less gotten his name.

Instead, you just clicked the television on. "Anything in particular you wanna see?" You asked around a mouthful of food. "We've got movies too but I dunno if you like horror." You hummed, setting your plate down briefly to shuffle over to the drawers in the tv stand, leafing through VHS tapes. "It's almost Halloween though," you smirked, "But, judging by your mask, you knew that."

His eyes were boring holes into you again but you just chuckled to yourself. While you pride yourself on being good at reading body language, his ramrod straight posture and silent staring was like gazing at a white canvas. But maybe that's one of the reasons you liked him so much: he wasn't complicated to understand, when he needed to be heard.

You pulled out a particular VHS and flashed it to him. "Do you like cartoons?" You asked, dangling 'It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown' for him to see.

He nodded then - so clear and obvious that you didn't waste any time popping the tape in and sitting back down alongside him. You kept your eyes glued to the screen as you ate, hoping that would be enough privacy for him to comfortably eat. He'd have to give you his name later, at the very least, but you felt the urge to give him some semblance of privacy as he ate. So you kept your eyes off him and the two of you ate in amicable silence, both your attentions rapt on the little cartoon. He ate like he was starving for it and practically chugged the glass of water when he was done, which made your heart hurt a little.

How long had this guy gone without eating or drinking anything?

"There's more in the pot if you want. Help yourself." You said softly, bumping his knee gently with yours to get his attention. He'd tensed up slightly at the contact and you momentarily scolded yourself for that. He was clearly not good with touch, but it had just felt natural to do for him.

But he didn't seem to hold it against you and just stood up, retreating into the kitchen with his plate. You watched him with a slight smile on your face. He was, no doubt, intriguing. His mysteries had you utterly fascinated and there was so much you wanted to ask. But a part of you feared the answers, paranoid your suspicions would be proven correct.

He would have killed you if that were the case, right?

The two of you continued watching movies once you'd learnt he hadn't, in fact, seen most horror films. "Well obviously I'm going to show you 'The Thing,'" you'd said as Charlie Brown came to an end. "It's one of my favorites, I think you'll like it." His staring didn't bother you anymore so you took his silence as agreement when the movie began playing. The night continued like that, the two of you watching movies together. Horror films seemed to intrigue him and you swore he jumped a little at some of the visceral body horror moments. But the two of you had cozied up just a little. He'd finally sunken back into the couch and had tolerated you scooting closer to him.

You were halfway through Frankenstein when you heard the phone ring in the kitchen. "Be right back," you whispered to him, feeling his eyes on you as you walked away. A quick glance at the clock revealed it was nearly midnight and you frowned. Your dad should've been home by now and your guest didn't seem in any hurry to go home. Didn't he have somewhere to go?

Regardless, you stepped into the kitchen on socked feet and plucked the phone off the receiver. "Hello?

"Kiddo? Oh thank god you're alright!" Your dads voice sounded monetarily relieved, letting out a sigh as he spoke. "You should've called me after you saw the news." He said, once again becoming frantic. "Lock all the doors, keep Mayhem inside tonight, and-"

"Calm down," you cut him off, "What's going on? I haven't even seen the news, I've been watching movies with-"

Your dad wasted no time cutting you off as well. "Just stay inside, okay? Keep your eyes on the news and just- just stay safe. My pistol is in my room in the bedside table if you need it."

A sinking dread began to settle in the pit of your stomach as you twirled the phone cord. "Just tell me what's going on!" You became equally frantic, running your hand through your hair in frustration.

He was silent for a moment before sighing. "Look, I'm not supposed to tell you. This is strictly police business. But the last thing I want is you digging into this yourself-"

"That was one time-!" You protested.

But he ignored you. "There's a killer on the loose." His words were like a gunshot to your chest. "We nearly caught him this afternoon but he managed to escape. We're- we're not sure where he'd gotten off to so I want you to stay inside and call me if you hear or- or see anything strange."

A lapse of silence passed and you can tell your dad was about to hang up but you quickly squeaked out. "What's his name?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you." His voice had a finality to it. He didn't plan on telling you.

You knew how to play him though. You faked a sniffle and a sob. "Dad, please, I- I need to know what I'm up against! W-what if he gets inside?"

Despite his voice being barely a whisper, it was deafening to you. "Michael Myers."

Instantly, you sobered up. Your fears were confirmed and you felt your blood run cold. Michael Myers was sitting in your living room in your dads clothes after you'd had dinner together. He'd been fascinated by Charlie Brown and had jumped a little at the chest defibrillation scene in The Thing. The Boogeyman of Haddonfield had helped you cut tomatoes and let you tend to his wounds.

You were still alive. As terrifying as this revelation was, you were curious why he hadn't killed you. You didn't know Michael Myers to be very forgiving or benevolent…

Wrapping up the call with your dad, you practically slammed the phone back into the receiver, your back still to the living room. You steadied your resolve and forced your hands to still when you turned back around. You nearly slammed into him when you did. He'd been eavesdropping and the idea that his mercifulness would end made you talk before he could move. "Seems we're locked in tonight." You managed a smile and a shrug. "Dad says it's too dangerous to go out tonight so at least it'll just be us two. If you want, I can set you up on the couch to sleep when you're ready."

He continued to stare at you and you swore he almost seemed…surprised.

You sidestepped him to head back into the living room and he let you, though he was hot on your heels. "Means you and I get more movie time though." Grinning up at him, you sat back down with a soft "oomf" and looked up at him expectantly. If you just acted like everything was fine, maybe he wouldn't kill you?

It seemed as good an idea as any.

Eventually he rejoined you on the couch after staring at you for a few good minutes.

You knew. And you had a feeling he knew that you knew. But what could you even do? It wasn't like you stood a chance against him if he decided to attack you. In fact, a part of you felt almost guilty for withholding your newfound information from him. He was literally a serial killer and you didn't want to make him think you were against him.

Which bewildered you. Why would you feel bad? You knew, logically, you should call your dad back and tell him Michael was here and let him and the rest of the force come try and catch Michael before he ran you through with a knife.

He'd extended trust to you though. You recognized that. You didn't want to betray that, especially since you didn't know who the last person he trusted could have been.

As the movie came to an end, you decided to take a risk. "Want me to make popcorn, Michael?" You kept your tone light and casual as you stood and stretched.

You didn't even get two steps in before he was up, grabbing your wrist tight and spinning you to face him. You kept your smile light and tilted your head the way he liked doing. "I think I have M&Ms if you want me to mix those in too." He continued to stare and you finally sighed. "I already knew. I, uh, had my suspicions before we made dinner. But dad called and confirmed it, basically." His grip tightened but you brushed it off. "I'm not going to tell anyone." You finally admitted.

His posture remained rigid, like he expected a fight. You felt your heart break a little. Has he ever had anyone be kind to him ever since that night? "Do you know about doctor-patient confidentiality?" His blank stare was an answer in itself. "When a doctor treats a patient, that patient has the right to keep their information private. Including their name." You placed your free hand atop his in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. "So, since you're technically my patient, I don't have to tell anyone anything." He still seemed confused and you just let out a soft sigh. "I'm not gonna rat on you, is what I'm saying."

He seemed to consider this before giving you a slow nod.

A part of you was relieved. A fair trade, you thought as you went into the kitchen to make popcorn. You patched him up and fed him and, in exchange, he didn't kill you.

The two of you wound up watching movies late into the night, with you adding soft commentary as you munched on popcorn and M&Ms. By 2AM you were fading, your head lolling to the side and bumping against Michael's shoulder in your attempts to fight off sleep. He was warm and, despite knowing who he was, you felt safe.

So you'd nodded off.

The next time you opened your eyes, you were being shaken awake by your father. "Get up," he whisper-yelled as he turned off the tv, a quick flash of the movie menu disappearing as soon as you saw it. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

You hummed, yawning and rubbing your eyes. "Early." A glance at the clock confirmed it was nearly 6AM. "Sorry, guess I was up watchin' movies." You sat up and looked around a little before your sleep-addled brain immediately recalled that Michael Myers had been sitting on your couch last night and you looked around.

As your dad herded you upstairs and past the kitchen, you noticed Michael's boots were gone. The dishes had been left atop the table but yours had been placed in the sink as though to hide the fact there had been two people here. Once of the knives from the block was missing too, but that didn't surprise you.

If your dad's weary expression was anything to go by, Michael had escaped before he'd gotten home. "'m headin' to bed," he grumbled, "You should too." He said before shuffling into his bedroom, closing the door with more force than intended. You nodded to empty air before retreating into your bedroom, noticing Mayhem lazily dozing on top of your messy bedsheets.

Your bedroom was dim and cool, the morning light just starting to shift the pitch black sky into a dark tealish blue color. Raindrops still covered the window, indicative of the storm that must be still going. You frowned and went to close your curtains to avoid being blinded by the sun once it rose but you paused just before you could yank the fabric closed.

There, across the street, only visible thanks to the streetlight he stood under, you could see Michael Myers staring up at you.

Dumbfounded, you smiled and gave him a little wave, swaying on your feet as you tried not to swoon. You wanted to believe he wouldn't hurt you, seeing as he had ample opportunity to do so and had instead laid you gently down on the couch to sleep when he'd decided to leave. But the realistic part of your brain reminded you, as you closed your blackout curtains, that it should be more concerning that you'd become a fixation of his.

You'd heard of Laurie Strode and how she was assumedly his previous fixation, seeing as he'd stalked her for a while before deciding to take action against her friends. She'd been terrified of him for years and continued to lock herself in her house for the past two years to protect herself against him. Despite her fear of him, she'd yet to move out of Haddonfield.

There wasn't any point in trying to figure her out though. She was of no help to you. You couldn't tell anyone about what was going on or risk yourself or Michael.

You were far too tired to think about any of that for now and just flopped down into bed, freezing when your hands brushed an unfamiliar texture. After scrambling around under your stomach, you held up Michael's tank top. He must have left it for you when he'd gone to change into his jumpsuit. You felt your face heat up at the implications of him leaving his shirt for you, opting instead to shove it under your pillow with your cheeks burning.

The memories of him in the tshirt filled your head as you fell back asleep.

Crunching dry, brittle leaves beneath your boots, you made your way into town for work. You always liked the walk, especially with how beautiful Haddonfield got in the fall. A gorgeous watercolor painting of oranges, browns, and reds, touches of yellow and green giving pops of color. Despite the tragedies that had happened two years ago, Halloween decorations were still up in full swing, the town determined to celebrate no matter what. There was even a small festival at the farm nearby, complete with haunted houses, hayrides, and pumpkin patches. Halloween spirit was everywhere and you loved it. It'd always been your favorite holiday, even before a certain man fell into your life.

As you approached the plant nursery you worked at, you mulled that over. The police hadn't caught Michael yet but were working round the clock. And although you hadn't seen him in person since he'd stayed over a few days ago, you'd seen glimpses of him. Enough to know he was definitely stalking you. While you should logically feel afraid, you instead felt… oddly comforted.

You stopped beating yourself up over why. You knew why. Michael Myers was the most dangerous person alive and he was looking out for you, in a way. You felt safe with him watching you. So you played the game and pretended not to see him. It was easier to play along anyways and, as far as you knew, he hadn't killed anyone since he found you. No one your dad talked about at least.

So you'd been spending more time in town or out in the woods, hoping that entertaining him would keep him from killing. At least, you hoped so.

It didn't help that you still found yourself fascinated by him.

You'd stopped beating yourself up for that too. Most people you knew were predictable, bland, or boring. They had routines and patterns that were easy to predict. But Michael wasn't like that. You never knew what he was thinking or how he'd behave. He was interesting, unique, and unpredictable.

You liked that. Maybe that was sick or twisted of you, but it was true.

"Helloooo?" Your co-worker's soft voice pulls you from your thoughts. "Did those blackberries do something to you?" Kalei snorted, nudging you gently. "You've been staring at them for, like, ten minutes now."

You responded with a yawn, rubbing your eyes. Despite having only been at work for a few hours, you were ready for it to be over. "Sorry, jus' haven't been sleepin' well." You slurred as you tried to give her a smile.

"Bad dreams?" Kalei asked, frowning slightly as she set her own blackberry plant aside. Working at the plant nursery had been your idea, more interested in working with plants than people. But Kalei was a good friend and always looked out for you. It was nice to have company while taking care of the plants.

You chewed on your fingernail and gave her a little shrug. "Just been… thinking about a guy, I guess."

They let out a shocked gasp. "A GUY?!" Kalei squealed, ignoring your desperate attempts to shush them. "Tell me everything RIGHT NOW, oh my god!" 

You blushed, trying to get them to quiet down, flustered at the idea of Michael listening in. "It's not anything serious! Just, um, met this guy and he's… interesting. I like him." You blushed at the childishness of your own words, focusing on your plants to avoid meeting Kalei's eyes.

They gave you a nod. "Well, as your workplace bestie, I am obligated to give him The Talk."

You chose to not mention the fact there were only five total employees counting you both. "Kay, it's Illinois. I doubt he'd be interested in me, available or not." Which wasn't untrue. Even if Michael was interested in you, it likely wasn't anything beyond obsession. At least the obsession went both ways, you thought to yourself with a private smile.

"Well, regardless, I have a duty to fulfill." They beamed at you, hands on their hips. "You're a cute guy and, if I didn't have a partner, I'd take you out sometime." They ignored your snort and continued. "If this guy screws you over, I'll kick his ass for you."

If only they knew, you chuckled to yourself as you left Kalei to attend to a customer. Michael wasn't exactly great "bring-home-to-the-parents" boyfriend material. Much less introduce to your co-worker. When you'd finished helping the customer, you froze at the sight of movement in the tree line across the road. Standing in the tall grass and brush, you swore you saw Michael standing there…

As far as you were aware, he stayed close by to watch as you finished your shift. You hoped that as long as he was watching you, he wasn't out killing someone. Hopefully. For all you knew, he could be supernatural.

But you'd let him watch you. The whole rest of your shift, the walk home, and as you got in the car to go shopping. While you usually got vegetables and fruits from the plants at your work, you still needed to get normal groceries at the store. So you parked around back to be a little more secluded and went inside.

It was a cute little supermarket, clean linoleum floors and shelves lined with food. You didn't need much but you definitely needed to refill your medkit and find a proper first aid book, just in case. Thankfully, it was relatively empty that day, meaning you had free reign of the aisles to explore and take your time shopping.

You knew Michael wouldn't come in the store but you didn't doubt he was waiting for you outside.

So when you finished loading your grocery bags into the trunk of your car, you didn't feel surprised when you heard footsteps approaching you. Michael was definitely taking a risk being out with you in public but you hadn't exactly spoken to him in a few days and you were itching for the chance.

Turning around, however, you were met face to face with an unfamiliar black ski mask. Definitely not Michael. The stranger grabbed you by the arm before pulling out a knife, his head on a swivel. "G-gimme all your cash! Now!" He hissed, jerking you aggressively.

"I don't have anything on me." You said calmly. Your dad had always prepared you for situations like this so you didn't worry too much, even with the glint of his knife in the corner of your eye.

"D-don't bullshit me! I know you j-just got outta there. G-gimme what you've got and I'll b-be on my way!" He spat at you, pulling you closer to press the knife against your neck.

You caught the faintest of movement in the shadows of the alleyway behind him but you kept your eyes on him to prevent the guy freaking out. "Okay. Let's just calm down," you said, keeping your movements slow as you reached for your hip, pretending to go for your wallet. The guy kept looking around frantically as though expecting something to jump out at him. Police, most likely. But when you saw the white face of a familiar mask over his shoulder, you felt a sense of calm settle over you.

"C-c'mon!" He hurried you, jerking the knife again to threaten slicing your throat.

At that moment, you jerked back as hot blood splashed across your face. Michael had effortlessly slashed the guy's neck open from behind, bright red falling like rain against the concrete below. You closed your eyes as the choked gurgles of the mugger's voice faded to silence and his body hit the ground. It was like you were frozen in place, unable to make your muscles move as you listened to the sounds of Michael killing the man. The vicious stabbing sounds made your skin crawl and you turned away from the scene entirely to check yourself over.

You hadn't gotten blood anywhere besides on your face, which was good. Easier to clean.

This was inevitable, you reminded yourself. That man wanted to hurt you and Michael was doing you a favor. Still, you tried to steady your breathing, bracing on the trunk of your car as he dragged the body away, presumably to hide it.

You heard Michael start to approach you and you let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding. His footsteps could be silent, almost supernaturally quiet, so if he was making an effort to be loud, you knew it was his attempt to make you feel better. To let you know he was coming.

He stood in front of you now, covered in fresh blood and gripping his knife tightly. You were thankful for the setting sun that cast dark shadows over you two, obscuring the bloodsoaked Michael from view on the streets. You noticed the body slumped against the wall a little ways away and you swallowed back bile. "T-thanks." Your voice was soft and you cleared your throat. "For saving me."

It was only an assumption that he'd killed that guy to protect you. He didn't have to. He could have just let you die or at least be robbed. You were confident in that assumption though. He wouldn't risk your game ending so soon. 

On some level, he wanted you alive.

The blood on your face was beginning to dry uncomfortably and you desperately wanted to go home. You gestured to your car and gave Michael a tilt of your head. "You coming?" He seemed to weigh his options in his head before casually making his way for the passenger seat after a brief deliberation. "What's the plan if we're caught?" You asked him with a raised eyebrow and climbed into your own seat.

Turns out, once the cops got wind of the body, they were very easy to avoid. Predictable, you thought as you gripped your steering wheel tighter, careful to not draw attention to your car as you drove through the windy roads that led to your house.

You got Michael inside, shoving the grocery bags onto the kitchen counter as Mayhem came around the corner, meowing for attention and approaching Michael to give him a curious sniff.

It was then that you remembered stories your father would tell you about how Michael would kill animals for fun as a boy. How he'd leave the dead bodies of cats and birds in his locker at school to terrify the other kids. You weren't sure how truthful the stories were but you felt a heavy pit of anxiety when Michael looked down to acknowledge Mayhem.

"If you hurt Mayhem, I will turn you in." Your voice was steady despite the way you trembled. His head snapped up to look at you and you could feel the glare behind it. "I mean it. T-this is one thing I'm not bending on. He's my kitty and I won't let you hurt him."

Michael was still for a moment, letting Mayhem rub against his boots and yowl as though expecting the man to feed him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he bent over and let his fingers brush against soft black fur. The motion was gentle, like either you or the cat would lash out should he make a mistake. Mayhem loved the attention, purring and rubbing against his fingers more, which made you smile.

He was usually an anxious cat so seeing him this comfortable with Michael made you smile. You set about making up Mayhem's dinner while Michael tried to navigate petting him. He was shockingly gentle despite clearly never having pet an animal. "Did you have pets as a kid?" You asked as you scraped food into the bowl.

He didn't answer but you didn't really expect him to. His hand was still, just letting Mayhem rub all over it and meow at him. It was endearing, you thought as you set the bowl down and let Mayhem go to town on it. Michael's head tilted curiously as he watched and gently stroked his back once before standing back up.

"I think he likes you," you giggled, scritching the cat behind the ear.

Michael just watched the cat before slowly standing back up and heading back into the living room. You followed him, tugging on his sleeve gently. "Want me to wash your clothes?"

Your words trailed off when you noticed Michael was looking at a photo of you with your dad at your graduation party. A tired sigh left you when the man tilted his head. "I don't… want to talk about that." You mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's not like it's easy to plan for your own dad's murder." The words were heavy in your mouth and you forced yourself to look away from the photo.

Ever since your mom had died, you knew your dad had been different. She'd died in childbirth with you and all your dad's friends would whisper about how that changed him drastically. He'd always been distant with you, especially as you'd grown up. When you'd hear stories about him before your mom died, he sounded like an entirely different man: happy, enthusiastic about life, and excited to be a father.

But then your mom died and he retreated inward. As though the whole thing was entirely your fault. He didn't want to parent you on his own and therefore you had to grow up taking care of yourself instead. 

"Whatever you have to do," you swallowed, turning away from Michael entirely and your voice hollow, "Just make it as painless as you can."

It wasn't like there was an easy way to ask him to kill your dad painlessly. You tried not to dwell on how easy it would be to let him go. It wasn't exactly like he'd ever been there for you anyways.

"So. Your clothes. I, um, still have your shirt and the sweats you borrowed are clean, if you want to change." You changed the topic quickly, ignoring the way he stared at you. The last thing you possibly wanted was pity from the Boogeyman. "Either way, I'm going to go wash my face before someone sees me."

You went upstairs to the bathroom, leaving Michael to his own devices downstairs. You opened drawers at random until you found the wet wipes you kept stashed for when you wore makeup. Some good hard scrubbing and scented lotion and it's like you were never there, all evidence flushed down the toilet and out of sight. You sighed, staring at yourself in the mirror as the events of the day hit you, leaving you feeling winded and exhausted all at once. You were complacent in a crime now. It wasn't just you hiding Michael from the cops, you'd let him kill a man in front of you.

Trying to argue with yourself that it was self defense was pointless. No use in lying to yourself.

When you opened your eyes, unsure of when you'd closed them, you met Michael's eyes where he stood in the doorway of the bathroom. "Oh, sorry, do you want to shower?" Before you could even move to leave, he unzipped the jumpsuit, leaving you speechless.

You gasped in horror at the state of his chest. The black shirt was gone and left his bandages on display, dirty and stained with reddish-brown blood that mixed with ugly yellow pus from the drainage of the wound. It reeked of infection even a few feet from him. "Michael!" You hurried to him to get a better look, feeling sick for the second time today. "Christ, you should have come to me before it got this bad! With how wet it's been… Take these off and sit down on the edge of the tub. God, this looks awful."

Michael sat, watching you with amusement. At least you assumed it was amusement. Though you couldn't find anything funny about this. "I should have stitched you," you mumbled as you reached for your first aid kit and began sterilizing a pair of scissors, "Or at least looked up what to do."

Swallowing back your squeamishness, you cut him free of the bandages, practically retching when you got a better look at his wound. It had somehow gotten worse, a painful red and oozing pus. "Oh my god, Michael." Your voice was barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

He tilted his head and you almost wanted to smack him. How he wasn't in any noticeable pain was bewildering to you.

You began to undress him, uncaring of any potential nakedness, and he grabbed your wrists tight when you reached forward to take off his mask. "Michael, this infection could kill you. I need to see if you're running a fever. So either let me touch your forehead or I'm touching your neck." 

He stood quickly, stumbling slightly as he grabbed the bloodstained knife from where he'd apparently set it down on the counter. But you didn't back down. "Be mad all you want, this is really fucking infected and I'm not letting you get worse." You sighed, racking your brain to come up with an idea to placate him. "If I close my eyes, will you let me take your temperature?" 

Slowly, his shoulders fell. Which confused you. You'd seen his mugshots, you knew he wasn't disfigured or anything like that. So his insistence at not being looked at confused you but now was not the time to be worrying about that.

Prettiness aside, you needed to help him.

So you shut your eyes and held out your hand. A minute passed without Michael moving and you briefly worried he'd left the room entirely. Before you could open your eyes, you felt his fingers encircle your wrist and press it to his neck. You felt him swallow and you tried your best to focus on how hot his skin felt and not how this was an incredible show of trust. Goosebumps erupted across your arms as you cupped his neck gently.

His skin was soft and feverish and you felt your heart clench.

"You're definitely running a fever," you sighed. "I'll look for a sewing kit or something to stitch you up but I want you to shower and get all that gross off first. Don't scrub too hard, okay?" Before you could retract your hand, his grip on your wrist tightened. "Are you-?"

He lifted your hand, letting your fingers graze his bare cheek. You felt Michael lean into the touch momentarily and you reacted quickly, holding his face gently. He was burning up so hot you weren't sure how he was even standing in this condition. When was the last time anyone had taken care of him? Or the last time he was even sick?

Judging by his height, he was likely slumped against the bathroom counter. The idea made your heart clench. Despite every instinct in your body telling you to pull away, you ran your hand up the side of his face in a gentle, soothing motion. Your fingers ran through tangled hair, soft and curly, before sliding down behind his ear to rest back on his neck. "You'll be okay," you said softly. "The fever will break and you'll be back on your feet in no time."

Having had enough of being touched, he took you by the shoulders and moved you aside, careful to not let you stumble and fall. You kept your eyes closed when you heard the shower turn on and the curtain shift as he stepped inside. Only then did you open your eyes.

What... was that?

You looked down at your hand like it offended you before shaking your head in bewilderment. He'd never fail to surprise you.

You figured out pretty quickly that that instance of seeking your touch was the extent that Michael wanted you to touch him. He barely tolerated you checking him over for fever symptoms, opting instead to lounge in your bed like he'd been exorcised of a demon.

For the past few days, you'd done your best to keep Michael's presence in your house a secret. With your workaholic dad's late hours, he usually just came back home, ate a frozen dinner, and passed out in his bedroom before waking around 9AM to stumble to work and repeat the process all over again. So, provided Michael kept quiet, there wasn't any worry. You'd taken a few days of sick leave from work to take care of him, citing a head cold. Now you just had to hope that the police would continue their dedicated search even if people weren't dying.

You wondered, as you sat on your bed with a feverish serial killer half naked and asleep beside you, if hoping he recovered soon made you a bad person.

Probably.

But god he was a bitch when he was sick.

He kept the godforsaken mask on, which you had expected. But when his fever rose to 102 you had kind of hoped he'd take it off for the sake of wanting to cool down. He was persistent, you'd give him that.

You were getting the hang of his body language too. It was subtle but you'd begun to notice the slight shifts in his stance or the way his hands would twitch without a knife in them. At first you'd assumed it was just you projecting but you'd grown confident you could understand him now. Being sick definitely made him more expressive too.

Though, right now, you wanted to strangle him. "Michael, it's chicken noodle soup." You sighed, rubbing your temples. Trying to feed him was like dealing with a picky toddler sometimes. "It's chicken, noodles, carrots, and broth. All things I've fed you before." You could feel his glare at you and you were half tempted to get your own knife to speak his language better.

The infection was running its course, which was the only reason you had so much patience with him. His bitchiness was a byproduct of his fever and you had to keep reminding yourself that he probably hadn't been sick before.

That didn’t make you want to clobber him any less.

"If you eat the fucking soup I'll go buy you pumpkin pie when you feel better." You tried, glaring him down. "Because the sooner you eat this, the sooner you'll get better. And then you can go back to slaughtering the town."

He seemed placated by that. You turned your back to him so he could eat and you let out a silent sigh. You knew him well enough to know he liked that soup, he just wanted to be a jackass about it.

Later that afternoon you yet again threatened him with violence when he refused taking medicine. You weren't surprised he wasn't interested, seeing as he grew up in a hospital. But you were outgrowing your patience with him. You did smirk a little when you realized he absolutely wanted to throw you across the room for all but forcing the antibiotics down his throat. But once it was down, you softened. "C'mere, sleep will do you some good."

Michael glared at you but let you sit next to him against the headboard of the bed as he laid down. You'd learnt he was definitely a stomach sleeper and you could tell by his huffing that the heat underneath the mask was beginning to frustrate him. You jerked your head away when he ripped the mask off, throwing it with a growl and face planting onto the pillow.

"It's okay," you said softly, keeping your gaze straight ahead and fighting the urge to look down at him. "You don't feel as feverish today, you should be back on your feet in a day or two." You heard him grumble and you giggled. "Want me to rub your back? Might help you sleep."

He was silent. But he didn't immediately lash out so you kept your movements slow and purposeful. Like approaching an anxious, abused cat. He didn't know touch that wasn't associated with pain and you had to be careful to avoid startling him or overstepping. Your fingers made contact with his back and you slid your palm over his upper back, rubbing in slow, soothing motions.

Maybe it was exhaustion, the fever, or resignation to your touch but you swore you felt him relax.

Michael's skin was tacky to the touch and incredibly warm but that didn't deter you. You hummed a soft lullaby, keeping your movements slow and gentle. He looked painfully human and you were choking on the urge to care for this man. This strange, silent Boogeyman who'd fallen into your lap and sought you for care and food and attention and it made you want to cry.

If it weren't for his murderous hobby, you'd be infatuated with the sleeping man. The slow rise and fall of his chest made something in your own clench painfully as you continued to rub his back. You'd only known each other for a short time and yet you both had extended a lot of trust to each other. Most people met him with hostility or violence but you'd met him with kindness. A kindness he was unfamiliar with and must have been a welcome change. Either that or he just liked your cooking and bedside manner enough not to kill you. You weren't too picky about his motives.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't fond of him regardless.

The sound of the front door opening was like a bucket of ice down your back. You crept from the bed, carefully shutting the door behind you and heading downstairs, meeting your father's tired face. "You're back early."

"I'm only on my lunch break," he sighed as he shrugged his coat off, "Didn't feel like packing one so I figured I'd come check on you." He was giving you a strange look. "Are you okay?"

You watched him go into the kitchen as you loitered on the stairs, watching him through the awning closest to the steps. "Yeah, just been a little under the weather." You feigned a cough and sniffed. "Getting better though."

Your dad hummed as he opened the fridge. "Michael Myers killed a man at the store the other day." He reached in to pull out a sandwich you'd made for yourself at lunch and hadn't gotten around to eating. Trying to feed Michael was a laborious task.

"Really?" You raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms over your chest. "I didn't hear about it in the news."

He watched you with a painfully blank expression. "Correct me if I'm wrong but… I think you were out shopping before you fell ill, am I right?" Your dad took a slow bite of his sandwich, poorly trying to act casual. "The store clerk said a man was following you outside the store."

Fortunately, you were a better actor than your father. "I didn't see anyone."

But, of course, he didn't believe you. He never did. "Son, a man was killed by Michael Myers the day you went out and now you've been hiding away since then." His cop voice grated on your nerves. It felt like he never stopped being a cop, even with you. Every conversation with him felt like navigating a maze to try and hide yourself from him. You hated it.

"The weather has been getting colder and I work outside. It's really not that surprising."

"Have you seen Myers?" He got sick of beating around the bush, his hands on his hips as he leveled you with an unimpressed look. "Is that why you've been hiding out here?"

The word "hiding" made your hackles raise. Like this wasn't the same man who'd told you to lock the doors and windows when he first informed you of Michael. "Nope." Your smile was fake and bitter and you could see the way he flinched. "Hard to miss a man walking around in a Halloween costume." 

"Kid-" He tried to placate you.

But you weren't interested. "I'll be back to work in a day or so, don't worry."

He seemed remorseful now. "If Myers is stalking you, you can talk to me. You know that, right?"

An awkward silence hung in the air. Your dad seemed to deflate and he ate in silence, pretending to not see you. "Have you talked to Laurie Strode yet?" You asked as you picked at a stray string on your sweater sleeve.

He swallowed and shook his head. "We're hesitant to let her know what's going on until we're certain he's still after her. Dr Loomis has been working with us to try and find him as soon as we can." He scratched his chin in thought. "Maybe I should make a statement soon, what with Halloween approaching."

You gave him another acidic smile. "You'll find him, I'm sure. You're very dedicated."

Your dad gave you a helpless look. If you were five years younger, you might have apologized for being so curt with him. But you weren't sixteen and craving your father's approval anymore. You knew that the family charade you both put up was only because you helped around the house. He wasn't home enough to give a shit who lived there anyways.

He didn't even know the killer he was hunting was asleep in your bed, stitched up with your string and your soup in his stomach. You had no intention of telling him, partially out of spite at this point.

You hoped Michael got better soon.

Lucky for you - and unlucky for Haddonfield - Michael was back on his feet a day later. He was still a bit warm but you knew it was fruitless to try and keep him inside any longer. He had to make another appearance in town anyways or else he'd risk you both. If people paid too close to timelines, your sick leave corresponding with his disappearance would be too suspicious.

But his stitches came out easily and his wound had healed decently. "Next time, come back before your bandages get too dirty." You'd smirked at him as you zipped his jumpsuit up. It felt too close to a wife sending her husband off to work for the day and the thought made your face warm.

You managed to get a few days of relative peace, especially once your father was occupied by Michael killing again. It had also been a few days since you saw Michael and you hoped that was just because his bandages were holding up well. The last thing either of you needed was another sick week.

Currently you were heading home after spending the afternoon reading at the park. Your little bag bumped against your hip as you hopped along to the music coming out of your tinny headphones. It was unlikely Michael had been watching you, since you didn't feel his eyes on you, but you still felt like taking a break from the house for a minute.

The sight of a cop car parked haphazardly along the sidewalk made you freeze. It had hit the curb slightly and looked like the driver had been in a hurry to get out. The door was wide open and you lowered your headphones slowly, the frantic voice over the radio better. The voice was staticy and it sounded like whoever it was was running but their words were crystal clear. "All units respond. Multiple fatalities reported on Orange Grove Ave. Suspect has been identified as one Michael Myers. He is armed and extremely dangerous. Shoot to kill, I repeat, shoot to kill. Over."

You felt your stomach drop and your head whipped around. Orange Grove Ave was just ahead so you took off like a shotgun, sprinting down the street. The only sound was that of your shoes hitting the pavement as you tried to come up with a plan. If they hadn't seen him yet, you just needed to get an opening for him to escape. You knew of Michael's unnatural ability to vanish if your eyes weren't on him.

Desperately, you didn't want him to get shot again.

You rounded the corner onto Orange Grove with a sharp turn, your eyes immediately spotting a second cop car. "Fuck!" You hissed to yourself as you picked up the pace. You should have gone looking for Michael sooner. Should have left for the park earlier in hopes of catching his attention. Anything, anything to have avoided him getting caught.

When you got closer to the car, you noticed a cop hanging halfway out of the car. His head had been smashed in, a puddle of gore, blood, and brain matter leaking steadily down the side of the car door. You felt like throwing up but you held it in when you spotted his partner. A young man, likely fresh on the force, clutching his gun as he pointed it down the alleyway. His trembling told you all you needed to know.

The officer gave you a quick glance, fear obvious on his face. "Get back!" He called to you.

You ignored him and looked down the alleyway. Michael stood there calmly, hanging back in the shadows between the two buildings. Another cop lay before him and you watched with horror as Michael's boot made heavy contact with the cop's skull, a wet, sickening crunch echoing out in the small space.

"Get down and put your hands in the air!" The rookie said, hands on the gun shaking as he kept his eyes on Michael. An idea came to you. It was stupid, reckless, and dangerous.

You lunged for the cop, knocking his gun from his hands and sending him stumbling.

He didn't even have time to do anything but look at you with horrified eyes before Michael descended on him. He grabbed the rookie by his collar and lifted him effortlessly before running him through with his knife, spilling his guts on the sidewalk in warm waterfalls of blood. You scrambled backwards to avoid being caught in the spray but Michael gladly covered himself in the fresh gore. The rookie's lifeless body hit the floor with a heavy, empty sound and Michael turned his attention on you.

You scanned the nearby area and spotted a little path between two houses overrun with grass and brush. Without a second thought, you took off towards it and just hoped Michael was behind you. Other members of the force would be on their way and you both needed to disappear. You ignored the scratching of sharp branches against your arms and hands, only wincing when a particularly sharp one sliced a thin cut across your calf.

But you didn't falter. You kept running through the town, your heart pounding hard and pumping pure fumes through you as you ran. As soon as you broke into the treeline of the forest, you collapsed to your knees and let yourself catch your breath.

A hand gripped the back of your shirt and for a brief second you feared you'd been caught. But Michael dragged you towards a tree, pinning you to it and holding his bloody knife close under your throat, the blade digging into your skin. "Wait!" You struggled against his grip, kicking out at him with your heavy boots. "What did I do?! I got you out of there without getting shot!"

You could see his eyes this close. Hazel, like you'd suspected. His eyes were narrow with hate and anger as he glared you down. But you stopped struggling and that only seemed to make him madder. "I wasn't just going to let you get hurt!" You hissed, reaching up to grab the hand that held your collar tightly, keeping you rooted in place. "I don't see what you're so angry about."

He didn't like that answer. The knife pressed in and you gasped when you felt a stream of your own blood run down, wetting his fingers. "Stop," you pleaded, clawing at him frantically. "Stop, please, I'm sorry."

That wasn't good enough for him and held you tighter. Tears welled up in your eyes and fell, mixing with the blood. Pain shot through you when Michael yanked his knife away, taking a few steps back and letting you slide down the tree as you gasped for breath. Your hands gripped at your neck, slightly relieved it wasn't more than a surface cut. Blood started to stain your hands, falling in rivulets down your arm and leaking over your elbows only to stain the grass beneath you a muddy red color.

His head tilted as he watched and you wanted to spit at him. "Y'know, I kinda thought we had a partnership going on." Your words were choked as you glared up at him. "Was I wrong?"

That seemed to get to him. He straightened up and stared you down. You got up on shaking legs and stumbled away from him and towards the forest. His footsteps were loud as he followed behind you and that only served to make you angrier. The walk home was silent and he stayed a few feet behind you the whole time, never getting closer nor straying. The only sounds were the twigs crackling under your shoes and you were too rattled to feel or think much of anything. Your only goal was getting home.

You kicked the back door open and stormed inside and upstairs to the bathroom. You stared at yourself in the mirror and wanted to smack yourself for your infatuation with a killer who didn't care about you. The cut was, thankfully, small. And hopefully the amount on your arms could convince your dad you were just handling a blackberry bush at work or something. The one on your leg could be hidden under pants until it healed. So you began rooting around for bandages and ignored Michael standing in the doorway.

"I help you get away and you try to kill me?" You growled, glaring at him in the mirror. "I could have let that cop shoot you and I didn't because I fucking care, Michael." Tears threatened to fall again and you swallowed them back when he gave you a tilt of his head. "I get you aren't good with feelings and- and maybe this is just you needing me to clean and feed you but I wanted to help you." You dabbled your neck with a cotton ball soaked in hydrogen peroxide and hissed at the sting. "If that's all you want me for then fine but I need to know where we stand."

He watched you bandage your neck, his shoulders set tight as he waited for you to finish. He set the knife down on the counter and reached for you but you flinched back. "Wash your hands." You mumbled and stepped back more to give him access to the sink.

The water ran for some time as the two of you watched the blood swirl down the drain and out of sight. Once the water ran clear, he pulled his hands out and reached for you again. You wanted to run but were backed up into a corner with no way out.

He covered your eyes with one and you frowned in confusion. "What are you-?" He took your wrist with his free hand and held it to his face again, silencing you. His face felt wet and that concerned you. "Are you bleeding somewhere?" You tried feeling around for any cuts but he shook his head no. "Was it raining?" Another no.

So an idea came to you. A dangerous one if you were wrong. "Were you… crying?"

He nodded. Your heart broke.

You pulled him in for a hug, keeping your eyes closed as you just held him. He dropped the hand from your eyes to hold your hip, leaning into your touch like he did when he was ill a few weeks ago. "What happened?" You tried, holding his face with both hands.

Michael just shook his head helplessly and bumped your foreheads together. Oh. Oh. "Were you… worried I was turning you in?" No. "Was it because I was there while you were, uh, hunting?" No. You chewed on your lip as another dangerous thought came to you. "You were worried I was going to get hurt."

His jaw clenched as his throat worked around a growl. The Boogeyman of Haddonfield couldn't afford to feel anything. He doesn't. As far as anyone is concerned at least. Yet here you were, defying all odds and earning Michael's favor. His protection. His care. And the idea of losing you had terrified him, causing him to lash out at you for willingly putting yourself in danger. Emotions had run high and he'd acted out. He hadn't known what else to do but scare you back. 

"I'm sorry I worried you," you said softly, stroking your thumbs over his cheeks and wiping the moisture away as you kept your eyes closed. "I was worried about you too. I heard the police radio mention shooting you on sight so I went looking for you." His grip on you tightened slightly and you sighed. "I know that you're used to people shooting at you or- or attacking you. But I'm not used to hearing about it."

You finally admitted to yourself and him: "I don't want you to die."

After a moment of silence, he pressed your foreheads together. You felt his breath ghost over your skin and your noses bumped together awkwardly. You hooked a hand behind his neck to just hold him and he squeezed your hips tight. "I don't want you to die," you gasped into your shared air. He made a muffled sound and this felt so much more intimate than any kind of kissing you'd done in the past. You just stood there in each other's spaces, sharing air and warmth and closeness that you hadn't had with someone else in a long time. You couldn't imagine how it felt for him.

"We're in this together now, okay?" You said softly, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. Pretty, you thought absently. But you already knew that. Brown ringlet curls, one eye injured from his fight with Laurie Strode, and a light dusting of freckles across his nose. His face looked damp and you brushed under his eyes with the hem of your sleeve. Despite that, his face was expressionless even though you could see conflict swirling in his eyes. You couldn't imagine how he was feeling. "We'll look out for each other, yeah?"

He gave you a slow nod and you smiled. Your foreheads pressed together again and you felt his shoulders relax as his eyes closed. Trust. You both trusted each other and were partners in this now. You accepted you'd be complacent in his crimes going forward and he'd learn to accept your care in time.

Just you and your Boogeyman against the world...

[pettyprocrastination]

Silent Treatment

Word count: 941

Warnings: angst, lack of communication within a relationship, that's about it? Anyways silent treatment is bad communicate with those you love this is purely for fiction purposes don't do this in real relationships.

An: wrote this on my freewrite for a word sprint whole heavily sick on the couch (still am🤧) so if there are any major spelling or formatting errors blame my Samsung and the tumblr app.

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

If there's one thing Simon Riley can't stand it's the silent treatment.

He's used to anger. Knows it well and knows his own. Something nasty and rotten that boils inside of him, festering until he can extract it from his veins through the catharsis of violence under the command of his captain or splitting his knuckles open in an empty gym late in the night.

A man who spent his childhood fed insults and violence at the hand of his father has no qualms with a belly full of rage.

But oh, your silence all but starves him.

It isn't passive aggressive avoidance. There's no tight lipped smile as you insist everything is fine when the truth is standing before you both, because that'd give him plausible deniability. There'd still be that surface level communication no matter how empty it rang.

You offer him something so much worse.

Absolutely nothing.

At first, he's content to roll his eyes and let you stew. You want to act like a petulant little child? Fine by him. You can't beat Ghost at a game of solitude, he'll win every fucking time, sweetheart.

But then you slip by him in the hall, turning your shoulder to avoid his own brawny frame when before you would reach your hand out by just a millimeter so your fingertips would graze his own if only for a second.

By Christ, you might as well have backhanded him.

It makes him feel something ugly knotted deep in his chest. His body begins to itch down to the very bone when days past and you've yet to speak or for fuck's sake acknowledge him in anyway.

It's stupid and immature and childish.

YOU are stupid and immature and childish.

He's content to simply sit in his own silence and be done with it. He's left men and women for less than a passive aggressive attempt at an apology.

But while you slide into your stoic silence like a hot bath after an exhausting day, Simon singes his skin down to the bone on his. 

Perhaps it's ironic. That a man called "Ghost" is so uncomfortable with his own silence being gifted back to him that he turns to mild annoyances to gain a reaction from you.

Knocking your shoulder as you pass by one another, looming over you to grab something off of a shelf, entirely invading your personal space when it's unnecessary to press his body to yours in some hope of a twitch, a sigh, anything for you to show him that you're still in there aside from a closed mouth and empty eyes.

He'll find himself scratching at his scalp until the skin is raw and his fingers are tinted red.

Scream at him. Insult him. Hit him. Use him. All that is familiar territory.

Anything but silence.

When you return back to your apartment and find the entire place overwhelmed with the stench of cigarettes, he hopes it's the catalyst. That was your cardinal rule afterall, no smoking inside. One he could only get away with after he's fucked you to exhaustion and you're too comfortable to lift your head from his chest to scold him for indulging his self-destrictive habits in your own bed.

The pack is three quarters finished by the time you get home, the cigarette between his fingers is all but crushed flat as he watches you slip off your shoes and take soft steps towards him until you stand between his knees.

A myriad of comments sit behind his teeth, ready to be spit in your face. Wanting to ask if youre done with your childish charade and gotten it all out of your system, or maybe you've finally cracked because youre so lonely you can't help but come to him for a proper fuck because nobody will make you feel like he does.

But he says none of it. Simon Riley simply waits, and stares at you with tired eyes like a discarded shelter dog.

"I'm tired, Simon."

Your voice, my God had he missed it so much, sounds almost raw to his ears. A rasp to it that makes him wonder if you'd been crying.

Beneath the guilt, a sick part of him, just big enough to whisper above his conscience, feels a satisfaction in knowing he matters enough for you to shed tears in his name.

"I know."

"I don't like this. I don't like feeling like-" your words die in your throat as your face begins to scrunch up, forcing the whine in the back of your mouth to halt so you can uphold the facade of strength and resilience you told yourself you would on the car ride over here.

But then you look down and see the tired eyes of the man you don't know what to call to you and feel yourself wanting nothing more than to crumble in his arms.

“I know.”

A scarred hand gently grasps your thigh, slowly guiding you closer until you fold into his lap. Your own hands rise to cup his face, savoring the way he leans into your touch.

"We can't keep doing this."

"I know."

Despite his lack of words, you hear him perfectly.

You know he'll say sorry. He knows you'll say it as well. He'll tell you he's going to try and you'll accept it.

He knows he'll fuck it up again. As do you.

But now, as you tuck your face into the crook of his shoulder and pretend to not feel him shake and tremble in your arms, he vows to himself to make sure he never drives you to silence again.

[muddyorbsblr]

a startling realization pt1

See my full list of works here!

Summary: Oakley returns to campus after a trip with his mates and steadily comes to realize he's developed feelings for you

Pairing: Oakley x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warning/s: frat boy friends vibes; bit of angst; probably not a completely accurate referencing to the events of 'Unrelated' [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: prequel piece to 'just another memory' but can be read alone; Oakley is a SIMP in the making for Reader

There'd been a strange sinking feeling in Oakley's stomach since he and his mates hit the road back to Cambridge. It was the kind that he'd only ever felt when he knew he'd done something that could get his mother cross at him and she and his father would impose some form of punishment on him. Perhaps revoke his cell phone for a week so he couldn't join his friends on their regular scheduled shenanigans. Or chat up some stunner that he'd met the week prior.

But things were different now. He was no longer bound by their rules for the most part. He was free to do whatever he wished and this trip to Italy was the perfect showcase of that new dynamic. All he had to do was get his degree and get a job, and he would still have their support and financial aid so that he wouldn't have to stay at the dorms or even have to tough it out with a roommate that might not approve of the way he lived day in day out.

The only person keeping him in check now was himself, and as far as he was concerned, there was nothing he'd done in Italy that he wouldn't have done in Cambridge. He had a bloody good time there, even, getting to engage in not just one but two flings, and one of them with an older woman.

And yet, when he thought back on every touch, every kiss, that he'd shared with either of the women, that pit in his stomach would form again. As if the activities he'd engaged in during his vacation were somehow the "wrong thing" that could make someone responsible for him cross.

But why?

"You're awfully quiet back there, mate. Which one of your lucky ladies is taking up space in that randy little brain o' yours, I reckon?" Eric teased, lightly tapping the curly blond's head as he plopped down on the seat next to him, jostling him out of his dwelling over why there was a pit in his stomach to begin with.

"I've no idea what you're on about, mate, I'm not thinking of anyone," he tried to brush it off, brows furrowing together when he tried to remember that night in the pool and the knots in his stomach worsened. Like the memories he made in Italy were not something he could look back at with fondness.

If he dwelled on it for even a second longer than necessary, it almost felt as if he was looking back on those memories with a touch of shame.

"Ah come on, Oaks, you tellin' everyone 'ere that you're not thinking about that stunner of a blonde Elizabetta? Even I'm thinking 'bout her and it wasn't my tongue down 'er throat." Eric crowded his space, squishing him to the side of the van. "Or even that cougar Anna, my lord, man that one was fawning and doting after you!"

As if right on cue, his mobile rang and vibrated violently in his pocket. Another call. He didn't need to even glance at the tiny device to know who it was. She'd been calling since just a few minutes after they'd all said their goodbyes.

That was over 24 hours ago. And he was well on his way back to campus, the scenery already began to elicit that feeling of 'home'. Or at least of familiarity.

"Speak o' the devil! Why don't you pick it up, Oaks? Be a grand old time hearing her pining after you again." His friend flailed into his side, dramatically placing the back of his hand on his brow. "'Oh Oakley how I miss you terribly, why don't I come visit you on Cambridge and we can live out any professor fantasies you might have in that virile young college brain? I'll even get the glasses and the pencil skirt just for you."

"Sod off," he grunted, trying to chuckle away the mental image. Another thing that was bothering him: Those fantasies that he'd had before they left for Italy a little over a month ago…none of them appealed to him now. "If you want, you take her number and live out those filthy little daydreams of yours, mate."

All that he could manage to think of at the moment was the melancholic knowledge that when he got back to his apartment, there would be no one there. He wasn't coming home to anyone. That didn't used to bother him before, but for some reason sitting in this van with all his mates and having to hear them be completely taken up with his own conquests in this trip made him feel as if he should be guilty and shameful somehow of the way he acted. The way he treated both the women that he encountered and found himself entangled with.

This is ridiculous, you're not looking for a wife, you batty little git, he hissed at himself, trying to supress the urge to let out a deep exhale. That would set off everyone in the van. Besides, you don't even know anyone that's even remotely wife material.

"Hey hey hey look alive, lads," Marcus, the one at the wheel, started to call out. His tone was brimming with wanton intent. "We are steadily approaching the dorms, and you know what comes after."

"Sorority row!" the rest of the van cheered, proceeding to make botched barking sounds, effectively drowning out the relentless ringing of Oakley's phone.

But the mention of the dorms finally had him sitting up straighter, realization dawning on him that he was wrong. He actually already knew someone who was so much more than "wife material". Someone brilliant and diligent that had a part of him driven to make the steps to be someone better.

Someone that he called his best friend. Better than anyone in the van with him tonight.

You.

"Marcus, could you drop me off here?" he called out, his stomach flipping at the sight of your familiar silhouette jogging to the front door of your dormitory.

His friends' remarks faded into a dull buzzing in the background as he got off the van, making his way over to you and staying still by your side while you did your step-ups at the bottom step of the stairs. It only took a few moments before you shifted your gaze at him, removing your earphones and hooking the cord behind your head before giving him a beaming grin.

"Goldie Long Legs!" you squealed, the exhilaration from your workout giving you an adorably flushed look, the slightest tinge of pink on your cheeks. "I didn't know you were coming back tonight."

"I was gonna give you a call when I woke up tomorrow, but then I saw you." He did his best not to pay too much attention to the strange somersaults his stomach was making the longer he stared at you. "Coffee?" He tried to keep his tone casual, despite the way his voice cracked on the last syllable, as if he was a nervous lad asking a girl out for the first time.

You answered a giggle that had his heart doing the most bizarre acrobatics in his chest. Why was he reacting to you like this? Was it simply the lack of a woman's presence the last two days as they made their way back, making this reaction more primal than anything else? Was it your exercise outfit and the way the fabric clung to the curves that were rarely ever out for him to take notice of before?

Was it something else? Something that was simply…uniquely…you?

"Coffee? At this hour?" you laughed off his offer. "All the coffee shops are closed by now, and you know how you get with caffeine, Goldie. If you have a sip, you won't know a peaceful night's sleep tonight."

"Oi! Lookin' good there, Y/L/N!" Eric hollered from the van. Oakley's skin bristled seeing how his friend leered over your figure. "Shame you didn't join us, Italy woulda been an even prettier sight with you around."

"Rather not add to the trail of broken hearts you lot left behind," you shot back flawlessly, sticking your tongue out at the boys in the van. "I know you lads well enough to know you didn't behave yourselves."

"Oaks over there's the worst offender of us all!" Eric pouted, pointing at the curly haired blond. "Two flings. At the same time. Shoulda seen him, Y/L/N, he was at the top of his game."

The playful smile on your face faltered for a fraction of a second before you recomposed yourself. That infinitesimal moment was more than enough for the pit in his stomach to make its presence felt once again. Now Oakley knew what it was, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Shame. And the worry that knowing what he'd done back there would somehow taint your perception of him. When your gaze darted to him once again, he had to fight back the words that wanted to stumble clumsily out of his mouth. They meant nothing to me.

In the moment they were fascinating, and truthfully while he was in said moment, he thought about how things would go moving forward. If he would try to pursue anything with either of them, but ultimately the immediate answer was 'No'. Back then he didn't know quite yet the reason behind his mind's outright refusal, but now he did.

This dalliance was a mistake. I have someone so much better back at home and I've been a fool not to see it.

"Quite the juggling act, Goldie," you remarked, your tone more hushed than before. It felt as if you were putting distance between the two of you despite not having moved an inch. Like there was a wall he couldn't quite scale now just to get to you.

"One o' them even gave him a nice lil picture o' her. A breathtaking blonde called Elizabetta. Ohh man not even the finest girls in sorority row can compare."

Shut up, you little twat, he internally seethed, wanting nothing more than to throw whatever he could get his hands on at Eric's head so that he could just. Stop. Talking.

And then his mobile started ringing again. And your smile disappeared, your face looking as if it was struggling to decide how to reconfigure itself, your neck twitching with every shrill note of his ringtone. "That's probably that breathtaking blonde now," you said in an eerily chipper tone. "I won't keep you any longer, I'm sure you're tired from the trip. And you'd like to spend the night speaking with your new lady friend."

"Oh that's not even the blonde! That's the other one!" Dammit Eric, stop talking. "Older lady. Head over heels for him, she couldn't keep her hands off him every time they were in the room together. Told you, Y/L/N. Top of his game."

"Ohh so a lady lady friend. All worldly and whatnot…" Even your body language was throwing him off now, way too casual to fit how he himself felt in this moment. The feeling of wanting more than anything to explain. "Well then, I really don't want to keep you. I know better than to keep my elders waiting, you should, too."

The boys in the van started cheering and clapping over your remark, jokingly chanting "One of us! One of us!" as you gave them a curtsy, making a motion as if you were wearing a skirt rather than your black and hot pink leggings.

It was only when you were halfway up the steps to your dorm building that he managed to find his voice again. "Breakfast tomorrow? My treat?"

You only answered with another giggle. "Did you hit your head or something back in Italy? You don't do breakfast, Oakley. At most you do half a protein bar at first period. From my purse. I'll see you at lunch. I mean…if you're not too busy with your new lady friends or whatever."

He couldn't come up with an intelligible enough response, instead watching you walk into your building and shutting the door, wiping away at your face with your towel. All that he could do was walk back into the van, telling Marcus in a daze, "Drop me off at my place. I'm not in the mood for stop overs at sorority row."

Oakley wasn't in the mood for any more games. Any more women. Not tonight.

The next morning the first thing he did was call up his service provider to see about getting a number blocked, and then he grabbed his wallet, rummaging around in his desk drawer for a handful of photos to place in front of Elizabetta's. A group photo with his mates from their first class project in freshman year, a photo with his family. A photo of a stolen moment with you where you two were wielding chopsticks at each other in a playful "stand off" for a potsticker, and your graduation photo.

On a whim, he placed the potsticker one in the front, a fond smile stretching across his face as he traced his finger over your face in the picture. And then his alarm clock began to ring and the sound quickly filled his apartment, springing him into action to find the nearest clean outfit he had lying around.

He nearly broke a sweat with how fast he ran to your dorm building, hoping he'd catch you before you started walking toward wherever you'd decided to grab breakfast for this morning. Right as he was across the street from the front doors, you walked out, one earphone plugged in and the other dangling from the cord, undoubtedly mouthing along to whichever song was topping the chart this week.

"Y/N!" He internally winced at the hoarseness in his voice. He wasn't even running for that long; how was it that he was already heaving for air?

Your head snapped up to his direction at the sound of your name, shock registering on your face when your eyes met his. Followed by confusion, your brows adorably knitting together as you watched him jogging towards you as he crossed the street.

"What brings you to my neck of the woods at this hour, Goldie?" you greeted him with a smile, hooking the cord of your earphones behind your neck. "Have a breakfast date with one of the girls from my building? You must have it bad for this one if you're willing to wake up so early for--"

"Y/N, I'm…I'm not here for someone from your building," he cut you off, wiping his hands on his shorts before standing up straight, trying to get his heart to stop beating so bloody fast. "I asked you to breakfast last night, remember? My treat?"

His response had you visibly taken aback. "Oh…" The word came out more like a squeak, making you clear your throat. "I uhh…I thought you just offered that as a nicety. For catching up. We could've done lunch…or you know, coffee now that it's a reasonable hour."

"We could do that, too," he said in a rush, fighting against the strange instinctual urge to reach for your hand as the worry that you might wave him off and start walking away crossed his mind. "After breakfast?"

You shuffled your feet in place, slightly swaying back and forth. It was a motion he knew all too well from you, the one that told him you were trying to think something through, trying to find the reason and the rationality in something before deciding what to say or do next. Had it been any other day, any other circumstance, and had he not been grappling with finding his own sense of rationality in why there was suddenly this shift on how he was acting and reacting around you, he would have swayed with you.

After a few moments your mouth stretched into a half-smile, shrugging before tilting your head in the direction of a nearby cafe and bakery. "Alright then. Let's go."

Oakley couldn't help how his face broke out into a grin, a touch too eagerly falling into step with you, still fighting the urge to reach for your hand. To lace his fingers with yours.

"So tell me all about Italy," you started, looking up at him and squinting your eyes as the morning sun hit your features. "Start with the food because I want to know if handmade pasta--"

"We can talk about Italy later," he breathed out, finally losing the struggle to not reach for you and settling on lightly resting his hand just above the small of your back. "Tell me about what you've been up to the last six weeks."

He'd try and process what it meant later. That all he wanted to do was know how you'd spent your time apart. That he wanted to hear your stories rather than speak about his own. That much as it was an extraordinary experience to roam Italy with his mates, the only thing he could think of now was how it could have been even more beautiful if he perhaps…experienced it with you.

"Oh…" Your voice got smaller again, as if you were struggling yourself to find words. "Well truthfully they were quite boring. My sister visited campus to drag me to the shopping plaza to overhaul my wardrobe. She's quite literally holding my jumpers hostage and replaced them all with…well, things like these." You awkwardly motioned at the dress you were wearing, a frilly sage number with a bow. "I look ridiculous."

"You look beautiful," he blurted out, immediately biting the inside of his cheek when you snapped your head up to give him a questioning look. A new feeling flooded him. Something almost akin to…fear? His heart was still pounding and thrashing in his chest, his breathing thready like the air was too thin.

Like he was afraid that you'd look at him and see right through him. Right into his soul. His deepest, most secret thoughts. Thoughts he hadn't even dared to properly articulate with himself.

And if you saw them, if you saw him, you would walk away without a second thought. Those words that he was so used to wielding without completely meaning it when he was around other girls, he'd uttered to you with the weight of every unspoken thought he'd had of you since last night.

With every ounce of sincerity and honesty that felt so foreign for him to possess.

"Oh please, Goldie, you don't have to butter me up," you laughed off his compliment, waving it away with your hand like it was a little housefly flitting away by your face. "You don't have to lay it on--"

"I'm not." The words were flying out of him faster than his brain could filter them. "You're beautiful, Y/N. And it's not because your sister overhauled your wardrobe or you changed your hair. It's you." His heart caught in his throat seeing your eyes widen, the questions and the confusion in them mirroring his own. What was wrong with him today? "All of you."

You pursed your lips, already looking back in the opposite direction like you were second guessing agreeing to sharing a meal with him. Or maybe even sharing any form of time with him. He already wanted to hit himself for not keeping his mouth shut, he probably just flushed your entire friendship down the toilet all because he started acting the same way he did when he was in the first grade talking to the prettiest girl in class.

"Hmmm," you sounded through pursed lips, taking a deep breath before your features morphed into that all too composed smile that you gave him and his mates last night. "And here I thought all I had going for me was my winning personailty."

"That's just a part of it," he shot back, failing to fight the urge to touch his hand to your arm as you reached the cafe, helping you keep steady as you walked up the elevated platform leading to the door. Right as you walked past him when he opened the door for you, he caught a wisp of your perfume. The same one you'd worn every day since the day he met you, the scent of apples and mandarin blanketing him with a warmth that took him aback.

Memories of his weeks in Italy now bombarded him. How he would relish the apples that he had, breathing in the scent before taking a bite. How he brought an apple when he and the rest of the group visited a citrus grove, and how the combined smells reminded him of home.

Only his family home didn't smell like that at all. It smelled of tea plants and bergamot.

"Oakley?" Your voice broke through his memories. "You alright over there?"

He took in the sight of you, a single eyebrow raised looking like you were amused by his stupefied state, the corner of your mouth upturned in a little smirk. "Right as rain," he choked out, finding it hard to breathe properly with his heart beating so fast it might as well be The Flash on a treadmill. "Just not used to being up this early, is all."

You only wagged your finger at him, tsk'ing in response when he stepped up next to you at the counter. "Shouldn't have shocked your system with changing your routine like that, Goldie. You have to ease yourself into it, take baby steps. Otherwise you'll crash midday and end up taking a twenty-minute nap that quickly turns into four hours, miss a lecture, and then you'll have to rely on my notes. Again."

"Ah, you should know me better by now, Y/N. I'll need to rely on your notes even if I'm wide awake, I can never pay attention to those old windbags."

His words had you rolling your eyes to the ceiling, a devious smile playing at your lips. He couldn't take his eyes off you, every waking brain cell screaming at him to take your face in his hands and kiss you.

"And here I thought your time with your new worldly lady friend would have you respecting our elders a bit more," you quipped, laughing at him when all he could do in response was audibly choke on the air. "Maybe we can hack that debauched brain of yours. Pretend those old windbags are your older lady friend instead, or pretend one of the pretty girls in our lecture room is your breathtaking blonde Italian beauty. Maybe then you'll pay a bit more attention in class."

I won't, his mind protested. Why would I look anywhere else when you're right next to me?

"I really don't think so," he said softly, letting out a chuckle when all you did was shake your head at him, proceeding to order a bacon cheese waffle sandwich and the first of a handful of coffees you'd be drinking throughout the day. All the while Oakley watched you, a fond smile stretching across his face as he lost himself in the memory of the citrus grove again. The scent he was chasing the entire way to Italy and back.

Your scent.

Home

A/N: Sometime last year I made a lil note in my idea notebook to make a prequel piece to 'just another memory' and now here we are…and it's gonna be a 2-parter with a potential alternate ending because the lil gremlin horn dogs in my writer brain want a scenario where she chooses…well, y'know what, you'll know who it is soon enough 😈����

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist

[winterzxsoldierz]

Home Alone In The Avenger's Tower

Reader x Hydra agents

Authors Note: I was watching Home Alone earlier and wanted to make a one shot inspired off of it, Marvel style, in this you are Loki's kid, yes i said it, and the Avengers are not gonna be around for this one sadly, but hydra will and that meant fun for you, don't be too sad the avengers will come at the end. Warnings: Pranks, a lot of sadistic pranks, and blood, language Steve wouldn't approve of. Side note:I wanted to bring Christmas a bit early and add some glorious purpose to it. Reader is Female and around 17 & 18

The day started out normal, you waking up and doing anything a relatively normal person would do, brushing teeth and getting yourself together, the team had to go on a emergency mission on Christmas Eve, which had you a little bummed because you were actually starting to like them, your father said they weren't that bad and you agree.

Walking into the kitchen, you stop and smirk, and magically you conjure a full plate of breakfast out onto the table in front of you "Ha, beat that Sam." you murmur to yourself smugly. you take a seat down and begin to eat breakfast, you turn on the tv as well, watching the Grinch, Bucky's twin you called him. After breakfast you wander around the tower snooping around Tony's lab, touching things you have no business touching, you then find Tony's music playlist and grin, that's when you find it, the perfect song to blast around now that you're alone, Master Of Puppets by Metallica, and you ask his A.I F.R.I.D.A.Y to turn it on the common room loud speakers, and around the tower, you sing and dance without a care in the world, hell you even conjure your own electric guitar.

(Sun down) Hours had passed since the sun was up and there you sat on the couch with a tub of ice cream in your lap, with a spoon bigger than your mouth in your hands, "Merry Christmas you filthy animal." you imitate Kevin in the movie as you watch him quote the guy he's watching on his tv. (Meanwhile) Brock Rumlow creeps up the steps of the Avenger's level of the tower, and signals his buddy Grant Ward, to follow him, Rumlow felt a bit smug knowing that the Avengers were gone for the day and probably the night as well, he had it all figured out and Alexander Pierce would definitely be proud when he comes back with juicy information...But little did he know he was in for a rude awakening. A sudden crash awakens you from your power snooze and you look around noting the quiet, the television had cut off itself and the common room was only brightened by the Christmas lights and tree, your eyes narrow in suspension since you knew the team weren't home yet, and it definitely wasn't Peter because he would have texted you, you hear voices, whisper shouting to each other, it was definitely two men, none of who voices you knew, so activating your invisibility you began to your search.

Upon reaching Tony's lab next to the file room you see them, and your eyes widen, now you had two options call for help or handle things yourself, and you thought what the hell, 'I'm a god, i don't need it.'

Purposely you make yourself visible again and play scared child, both of the agents come up to you but you run and of course there's a little evil smirk on your lips. "Hey F.R.I.D.A.Y lock any source of exits in the tower for anyone who isn't me or the Avengers." you yell. and you slip into your fathers room.

(POV:Hydra's)

"What the fuck? Brock you said the place was empty! Grant exclaimed in annoyance, Brock shrugs and glares "How was i supposed to know there'd be a Teenager here?" Brock argues trying to defends himself, Grant rolls his eyes "For you to be the leader of the strike team you sure act like an obnoxious dick on a stick." Grant glowers. "Let's just find the girl." Brock grumbles and walks off "Besides, what can one girl do to us?" Brock yells cockily.

Running into the kitchen you go into the pantry and pull out some popcorn, you rip open the bag and lay out some kernels on the ground, you then grab a bottle of olive oil and pour it down on the ground of the kitchen and common room entrance, but you pour enough where it'll lead them into a large pool of green paint you conjured into the common room area. plan one was already in motion.

"Hey Brock i think i found- oh shit." Grant yelps as he trips forward on the kernels only to slip quicker on the oil, "Uh-oh" the words leave him as he tips over into the pool of green paint with a wet splash. All you do is smirk in the back ground and teleport to where Rumlow is heading.

"Where is that little bitch?" Brock growls and makes his way down the hall towards the file room and instead of meeting the room he falls, through a portal and he falls for about 30 minutes before you eventually let him fall into the paint pool next to his buddy.

Both Brock and Grant look at each other in confusion, before both of them get out the pool, but you have other plans for them. Teleporting the men into the training room, you have them held up against Clint arrow dart board and you speak into the intercom completely invisible to the men you speak "Ladies and Gentlemen, today we have two continents up on stage today to play a game of human darts, our weapon of choice, daggers!" you say excitedly, "But firstly let's give a boo for our gentlemen up on stage for being pussy's for making a move when my family aren't home. BOOO." you murmur dryly and in a wicked tone you speak. "Let's began."

With you still invisible you step into the room, handful of Bucky's daggers in hand, you watch in amusement as the men look around clearly worried about if you're around or not, but who cares.

You start by flipping the dagger in your hand and the swish the dagger fly's right by Grant's arm and plunges right into the board next to him, and then you throw another making a yelp leave him as it lands right by his head, you laugh. Then you turn to Brock, a look of distaste on your face, this guy creeped you out more than you like to admit, you throw not one but two daggers at him, one landing on each side of his arm almost hitting him but not quite. "I call this one, no kids in his sack." You quip and throw a dagger right between his legs, so close but not hitting him. but you laugh at his screams.

Three hours. it's been three hours, since Brock and Grant have been victims of your games, they can't find you anywhere but you have traps waiting for them every corner, Brock was covered in chocolate sauce and thumbtacks and Grant was still green from earlier but had burned shoes from stepping on metal steps you some how have heated up. Again the intercoms start up this time it plays Another one bites the dust by Queen, and the lights flicker off and on and both men walk on a trip wire and are immediately slapped with pans in the face and the fall back into yet another portal and falls into a pool full of flour, they don't get a chance before honey is falling down on them, but of course it wouldn't be funny without your laughter.

Once again, Brock Rumlow and Grant Ward split up, big mistake.

Brock walks down the hallway, his steps a bit squeaky from the mess that is him, he lost all his weapons, he leans up against the wall, and peaks around the corner seeing a round barstool with a metal bucket on it that says "Weapons." he walks towards it with fast big strides and reaches his hand in and hears a click his eyes widens and then Boom he's blown back into a wall rendering him unconscious and a bit bloody "Merry Christmas you filthy animal." You quote, with a satisfied smirk on your lips as the clock it's 12 on the dot. You follow Grant, you're invisible again, and watching him, the feeling he gets is uneasiness and he looks around, yet he keeps going forward, he walks into a room that looks Christmas gift wrapped, it's an empty circle looking room, the door shuts behind him immediately and with an illusion spell, you make him see spiders, that look like reindeer, and they start to chase him, he runs but runs into the glass walls repeatedly until you decided you were done with them, so you teleport in there and punch him in the face knocking him out. You drag Brock's unconscious form into the room with Grant, and tie their hands together with Christmas lights and then you add a Christmas bow on each of their heads. the room that the two men are in is Loki's old cell, you leave the cell locking it up and you put gift wrapping paper over the glass to keep any one from seeing in or out, you add a large golden bow on the door and a note that reads "To:Avengers, From:Y/N"

You cleaned the entire tower up with your powers and went to bed like nothing happened but only you'll know the real secret.

(Avengers Pov)

Everyone is tense and tired, the mission was a trap and bust but everyone is alive, and that's all that mattered, the jet lands on the helipad and the team gets off.

Upon getting into the tower the place smells of fresh chocolate and mint, they are first met with cookies and hot chocolate on the table in the common room, and they see the stockings filled with wrapped gifts, the anger and tension in the seems to leave as they see this and know your the cause, and then that's when they hear it, Jingle bell rock playing from a distance, they follow it until they reach the gift wrapped cell, each of them has their own look of confusion, before Tony steps forward and reads the card. "I'm assuming that the mission you went on was a trap, i hope you like the snacks and presents but i think you'll like this one more, i got em. from. Y/N Laufeyson-"

The rest of the team steps forward and starts to tear down the paper and there the two men lay fully conscious and tied up in a jolly way and all messed up. The team looks at each other before bursting out in laughter. "Well i'll be damned." Tony snickers "That's my darling little angel." Loki smirks, a proud look in his eyes. (The End)

Happy soon Thanksgiving and early Christmas, thanks for reading❤️💚

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Four: Desolate Days

Heiress of Gotham

Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: It’s time. The funeral has finally come around. While the expected have shown up, will the unexpected lead to loose threads in your life? It'll certainly raise questions, that's for sure.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Funeral, Depression, Threats, Crying, Angst,

Mentions of: Death, Bodies, Trauma,

A/N: While this chapter is angsty, and the next one contains some twists and turns, I promise it'll actually start to become more fun around chapter six once the reader gets settled into her new life!

It wasn't easy, not by any means; a week full of setting up a funeral, at fifteen, for your mother... the only real family you've ever had. Sure, there were close family friends in your life, but they weren't a constant presence, not like her. All that flew out the window when you'd been orphaned, and now, who knows what will become of those relationships. You figure, only time will tell.

As for the actual events, tonight is the viewing, followed by a dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant you guys used to love, and tomorrow morning is the burial. While there'd been lots of talk about who would come and what it would mean to them, and you, the conversation never fully came to any certain conclusion.

You don't know and aren't close with your new siblings, and while from a publicity standpoint it makes sense they should come and show their support, your Father is really the only person who knew your Mother. Even then, how well did he truly know her? The question stands. With all this in mind, you know that Bruce is accompanying you tomorrow, and by extension, Alfred too. That much you're clear on.

Money is a tough subject. Isn't it for everyone? While you weren't rich growing up in Bludhaven, you also weren't in the degree of poverty that some are, either. Nevertheless, funerals you quickly learned, cost a lot of money. You'd think it'd be one thing to bury someone in your backyard (if you had one, that is), or even toss them in the dumpster (not that you'd do that), or even set them afloat on the river and nearest ocean (that either), yet, the government wants their money. That's always what it boils down too, doesn't it? Regardless, Bruce had been suspicious when you brought up paying for the funeral. He offered, and while you'd argued for a good half hour, you'd finally compromised with him.

He wants to pay for the funeral, and you can keep the money you--somehow--have for college. Apparently, he expects you to do that now, as well. Not that college was outside of the question before, but... you still have three years to think about it, don't you? All in all, he let you pick out what you thought your mother would like, which, ultimately sort of became what you'd like... right? Besides the preferences in her will, there was still the matter of some sort of plaque or headstone, obsidian or silver... the works. Trying to keep money in mind, you didn't go crazy, but you did let him deal with it while still trying to give her at least something fairly nice.

It all happened so fast, really. Picking out everything, setting things up, and sending out a message so your family friends would know when and where to show up to pay their respects if they wished to do so. Not many people knew about your recent transfer of guardianship, or rather, to who. And while there had apparently been somewhat of a civil kerfuffle with your mother's best friend in an attempt to waive Bruce of his fatherly duties, Bruce apparently decided to claim custody of you. That's what social services naturally thought was the best fit for you.

"You don't have to go in if you don't want," Dick speaks up from behind you.

Standing outside the doors to the funeral home, you know that all too soon the doors will open up for her viewing and you won't be able to escape. Regardless of how many people show up, you'll be met with stories, jokes, emotions, conversation, and things you're just not ready to handle. Staring at the doors, Damian walks past you, soon followed by Tim as they make their way to the door.

"Sure she does. Maybe not now, but sooner or later you have to," Tim offers you with a sympathetic smile, "otherwise you'll never forgive yourself."

"That's just his regret talking," Jason accuses as he straightens the lapels of his black vest and follows the younger boys. "You do what you want, kid." A pat on the back, he too heads inside, leaving you there, Dick still lingering over your shoulder.

"It's your decision," the Detective reminds you with a sympathetic and encouraging smile before pushing open the doors to the funeral parlor.

Standing there in your short black t-shirt dress, the hem whips in the wind as a storm brews in the distance by the Fawcett-Bludhaven border, eventually destined to head your way, closer to the ocean, no doubt. Though you're adorned by a simple black headband, the accessory doesn't keep your hair from hanging around the frame of your face, eyes glued to the fancy sheen of your church shoes: a pair of black mary-janes. 

"Are you second-guessing?" The gruff voice of your Father emanates from your side and you raise your eyes to meet his face. There's a forlorn and distant look in his eyes as he stares ahead at the double doors leading toward the place you know the two of you will be met with a familiar face.

With a subtle nod, he mirrors your action, a clearing of his throat as he straightens his tie. "I can't say I blame you. Though, I can make you an offer," he proposes. As he turns his head, you're met with knowing blue eyes, a hint of what you swear is mischievousness behind them. "If you ever need to bail, why don't we have some sort of code? A code word, what about that?" He expands, the furrowed brows on your face cluing him onto your thoughtful mentality.

"I have to think about it," you respond quietly, eyes roaming the property. While Bristol is an eclectic part of Gotham for sure, this part of town feels somewhat desolate. The nearest and nicest open-plot cemetery to Bludhaven, it was a compromise on everyone's behalf. Not far enough from Bludhaven to feel unlike home and lack a means of public transportation for those in need, and not one of the buildings in the city that are more mausoleum-like, an option you hadn't wanted to consider. She deserved something better. A rumbling of thunder echoes throughout the landscape, the sky growing dark in the distance; eyes brought to the weather, your mind churns. "What about... 'Blizzard'?" It wasn't totally innocuous, yet it wasn't entirely improbable either.

"It'll definitely be interesting to see how we manage to work that into conversation naturally," Bruce jokes, to which you offer him a quiet chuckle, the inkling of a smile working its way onto the corners of your lips.

"Is that okay?" You ask, unsure if he approves.

"Blizzard it is," the Billionaire agrees, stretching out a hand in a semblance of kinship. With a moment of consideration, it doesn't take long for your hand to meet his in conciliation. With a firm shake, you both turn to enter the parlor side by side.

--------

Hand clutching the prized middle-school graduation gift you'd received from your Mother, a golden chain necklace with a teardrop image of La Virgen on it, you subtly run it back and forth along the chain where it rests on your sternum between your collarbones. Despite uncomfortable conversation and questions, you hadn't needed the code word. The attempt to try and visit your Mother before the service was unfruitful, people having shown up earlier than expected, others wanting to set up and you consequently helping like the obedient little girl you often were. Nevertheless, even now with only family members remaining, you still stand at a distance where only her hands propped up on her waist are visible.

Bruce had gotten by through making conversation, trying to get to know you and your acquaintances through their association and knowledge, though their questions often turned on him. Upon the revelation that you're not only now, but always have been a Wayne dawned on them. The natural questions would tend to follow. 'How well did you know her? Were you close to her?' As much as the Playboy would love to admit he didn't know your Mother on the level it would seem most people assumed, he also knew that sort of answer might tarnish any image of your Mother that these people already had in mind. Hence, he tended to use his usual tactics of evasion in a similar manner to any gala he'd attend.

The boys ended up doing recon in some sense, all in their own versions. Damian had intended to simply find a nice corner to sit in and text Jon about the plans for their next hangout and fill him in on the dreadful activities he's been put up to on the behest of his new 'sister'. If he could even call you that. Tim hadn't been filled in on the situation concerning your little expedition with Jason and what the elder had found during that time, so when Dick naturally seemed curious and a little too snoopy for his taste in concern of the event, it was only upon questioning his brother that he found out about the circumstances.

Dick went into this with the hopes of finding out information on your family, on what you all knew, the type of people you were, and what they knew specifically about you and your Mom. That much cash laying around even with the excuse of not trusting banks, in Bludhaven of all places, was ridiculous. Especially for the job he dug around and found out your Mother had. Therefore, he took to subtly interrogating people under the guise of attempting to get to know his new little sister better. 

Jason had intended to go only on the purpose of supporting you, and watching his family in suspect, considering they've all seemed dubious of your Mother and your family's involvement in some sort of criminal activity. While he'd been curious, watching you, talking to you, he's found that there's probably not much further whatever 'secret' your family is hiding goes. Sometimes people do things they need to do to survive, and if he's heard any stories about your Mother this evening, he'd suspect that's it.

Damian eventually caught wind of Grayson's not-so-subtle tactics of questioning people, and decided his evening would be much more fruitful doing exactly what his brother was doing, only in a more professional manner. After all, once he'd rounded the parlor he'd seen his Father doing the same thing in his own fashion, therefore, he can't be mad at them for doing the same when he's the one who's supposed to be setting the example, right?

Oblivious to your new family's motives, you try and work up the courage to say goodbye to her... to her face. Evading the happy images that filter through wild transitions on television's slideshow to the right, you run a thumb over the memorium card you'd taken. Even if they were for everyone else, you still wanted one. Room practically empty, you finally take the leap and close the space between you and the open casket.

Immediately you have to avert your eyes. It's... too painful. Yet, another curious part of you tempts you to take another look. Upon second glance it simply appears as if she's sleeping. Peacefully. There's no lacerations or marks, no sign of any sort of ill-wrought event, and yet, you know the wiser. "I hate this," you whisper through your teeth, jaw clenching in an attempt to keep your tears at bay. "It's not fair. I don't know why... why it had to be you." With a sniffle and a heavy sigh that bobs your shoulders, you reach out and place a small hand on her larger, and eerily cold hand. "I wish I could ask you, that I could talk to you- that you could tell me why- why you never told me! I don't- I don't want to do this but I know I have to, and he's giving me... all you ever wanted for me. I-" Breath coming quicker, you have to force yourself to speak the next words, determined not to break down in front of everyone. "Te quiero mucho, mamá, te extraño, y vas a recordar para siempre." With a gentle squeeze to her hand, you turn and head for the doors, eyes downcast as you avoid everyone.

--------

Somehow, the universe always reflected its events; while it’d been mostly thunder and heat lightning the night prior, this morning the dark clouds have been pouring rain. Alfred had gotten you up, though really you hadn’t slept much in anticipation of what today would hold. Having been dressed for some time now, all you’ve done is sit at the window seat and stare outside, watching the rain pelt the earth repeatedly, unyielding in its triumph. You can’t help but think it’s like life, forceful until the end, when it eventually wanes and succumbs to a stop. Maybe you’re overthinking, but with everything that’s been going on… you don’t think you can help it.

“Hey,” your Father’s voice calls from the door, a gentle knock on the wood follows as he continues to open it and step through the threshold. “Are you ready? Breakfast is waiting, and then Alfred’s gonna take us,” he informs, “the boys are going to join for breakfast, but then it’ll just be us, alright?” 

Before he can get too far into the room you rise from the window seat and tear your attention away from the gardens. With a nod, you meet him halfway and follow downstairs.

Breakfast is mostly silent, as you’re sure no one is quite certain what to say. If they could say anything, that is. Hell, even Damian doesn't have a snarky remark, and Dick doesn't try and make meaningless conversation. It all comes and goes far faster than you'd imagined, though the food was delicious. With your departure and solemn looks from your newfound siblings, Alfred pulls the Rolls Royce up to a gentle stop before the Manor's fancy double doors.

It was hard to believe she was in there. Yes, you'd picked out the coffin, yes you'd seen her at the viewing, and yet... this is your Mother. The woman who birthed you, who fed you, who took care of you year after year, and was there for you no matter what. And now... she's gone.

It doesn't feel real. The rain pattering against the umbrella Bruce holds up over you. All the people who sit and stand opposite of the priest as he goes about his rites. Of course there came time for the eulogy, and while there was the option of making one yourself, you couldn't find it within yourself to do so. Like Tim had mentioned, this could be something you may regret later, but in this moment it feels like too much. There's a dull queasiness that never leaves your stomach as you stand, eyes cast downward as your hands lay clasped before you. Rain, muck, and mud cling to your black mary-jane shoes, the ground now beginning to flood as the soil's beared all it can soak up for the next coming weeks. 

People come and go, they give their well wishes and hopes for your sake, and yet you can't really put any of it to mind or manner as all you can focus on is the growing emptiness within you. This isn't how things were supposed to go. You weren't supposed to be burying your parent... not this soon. That's not how it works! 

It's the call of your name that stirs you from your thoughts. Eyes raising to the familiar face, you can't help but feel your eyes widen with the shock and astonishment that they had the audacity to visit... to stay. Yes, he wasn't a stranger; yet an acquaintance isn't necessarily a friend. The boy lifts his hands to cup one of yours between his. "I'm so sorry to hear what happened, Mi Amor, I'm always here for you, sabes," Saul says. Though there's a sympathetic look in his eyes, you don't trust him one bit. Not after he'd taken one opportunity after another and gotten trapped up with the man behind him: Antonio 'Angel' Marin. Sure, you'd dumped Saul before he'd become affiliated with the notorious Bludhaven mob boss, but it didn't do him any favors holding company like that. 

As Saul leaves you and heads toward the line of black cars along the cemetery road, you dread the man next in line. "It's an unfortunate thing, losing a mother," Angel speaks, "looks like luck had its way with you though, getting you out." From the outside it might seem inappropriate, or perhaps simply a mistaken and poorly judged comment, but you know better. Lips pursing, jaw tightening, you don't dare let your hands form into fists as you meet the man's eyes. 

His oily face and ratty mustache meet your gaze, and you suddenly feel anger beginning to simmer in your gut. Though you're not sure why. While there'd been a time you may have considered him a family friend, a protector, a genius, and a revolutionary... those times have gone. He hadn't done your family wrong, in fact, he'd done nothing but try to help you and your Mom out of poverty, and yet... there were always strings attached. Neither of you had seen them at first and once you'd wanted out, you'd luckily gotten out without too much of a fight. Thankfully, unlike some of the stories you've heard, and yet, somewhere within you the anger persists. Maybe it's the smug look on his face, his taunting words perhaps, but whatever it is, he irks you.

"Don't go gettin' into any more trouble, ya hear?" His thin voice lets out a wry chuckle and he lays a pat on your shoulder before you can dodge it. Watching him leave with his trail of two or three choice goons behind him, you can't help but feel like he'd only come here for one thing, and one thing only... to taunt you. Was it a warning? A sign? A way of telling you that without his protection you were doomed? Leading a life toward failure? Only to end up like your Mother? No... no, that can't be it. There has to be something else, that can't be it. 

"Do you know him?" Bruce asks, finally speaking up for the first time since the service ended. He'd seen the whole interaction, he knows who that man was... but he doesn't know if you do. Not truly, anyway. Even if the grimace and shiver that'd run up your spine was visible from the way you attempted to evade the evil man's touch. Eyes peering down at you, he's disturbed by the lack of eye contact you make. Maybe he shouldn't be... you haven't been talking or interacting as much as you had been in the days leading up to this, something that's normal, he can only imagine.

"Once," you respond faintly. Eyes coming back to the rolling hills of the cemetery you watch the rain continue to pour. Life doesn't seem to stir here, no sight of sneaky intruders like squirrels, doves, or robins, no other patrons coming to visit their loved ones on a day like this. Thunder cracks overhead, and the diminishing sound of tires on gravel signals the Angel's departure. With a thick swallow, your hands finally ball up into fists. A single tear finally breaches the confines of your eyelid and slips down your cheek. With a heavy sigh you turn, meeting Alfred who stands a few feet behind the both of you. Stomping over to him, you grab the bouquet of flowers you'd all picked up on the way. "If you want to say anything... here," you announce over the sounds of the thunderstorm. Undoing the plastic and rubber bands from the store-bought bouquet, you hand both the men a single flower. Determined that the rest should belong to you, you head over to the grave, uncaring if you get wet any longer as you're no longer under their umbrellas.

Though your teeth hurt from the way your jaw is clenched, you can't help it as the tears start to flow more freely. With everyone gone, you don't mind being here alone. Placing the flowers atop your Mother's casket, your hand lingers on the polished wood while your free hand hangs onto the necklace your Mother had given you. "I can't do this without you," the words come in a whisper, your head almost meeting the wood before you think better of it. You don't want to appear a broken-down mess in front of the men watching. "I don't know what t-to do."

Raindrops soak your hair, coat your dress and shoes, your socks have splashes of water and freshly cut grass, not to mention that your face is covered in a mixture of raindrops and tears. A few moments of silence is all you need before you finally gather the courage to say one last goodbye and turn away, heading down the hill back toward the car before the storm gets worse.

------

"Dick... there's something you should know," Bruce mentions quietly. It's obvious from his behavior that he's upset, that this won't be a long conversation. "Antonio Marin was at her funeral. He came up to her and spoke something cryptic. I asked her about it and she said that she knew him once. I know I asked you all not to dig around, but, this is in your territory and I thought you should know." Evading his son's eye contact, he straightens his tie and sniffs, still clad in his tuxedo from the funeral. "I'll see if I can get any more information out of her, but... I don't want her caught up in this... I don't-" he sighs, finally turning to meet his son's gaze again with a look he's only seen once before, "-I don't want her getting hurt."

"I... understand." With a nod and a sympathetic look upon his face, the younger man stretches out his hand to lay it on his Father's shoulder in a small form of comfort. He knows Bruce well enough to know that anything too grand would steer him away, and while the thought of another child getting hurt at his behest unburies all the trauma Dick knows Jason's death had brought him, Dick knows they can't change the past. "I- we won't let that happen. I promise you that, Dad."

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

hog taglist: @luvly-writer , @clairese1980

[atimeofyourlife]

Meeting the parents (and forgetting about it)

@bucktommypositivityweek day 3: meeting the friends and family | wc: 738 | ao3 Tommy meets Buck's parents at Maddie and Chimney's wedding. It goes better than expected, but his tired brain forgets it.

There'd been a lot going on in Buck's mind in the run up to Maddie and Chimney's wedding, even before adding in his new relationship with Tommy. But he did at least have the forethought to warn Tommy that his relationship with his parents was complicated, to say the least. He didn't think they would be outwardly homophobic, or hostile in any way, at least not in public, but he never knew how they would react to anything he did.

Of course, nothing did go to plan. Tommy getting called out to the wildfire, Chimney not showing up to the bachelor party or the wedding, because of amnesia as a result of viral encephalitis. The wedding being called off, then being back on, just in a hospital room. The icing on the cake for Buck was Tommy showing up for him, sooty turnouts and all.

The makeshift reception didn't last long before the nurses started dropping subtle, then not so subtle, hints that it needed to wind down. That all the excess excitement needed to end so Chimney could get some rest. Buck had a bag with Tommy's turnouts over one shoulder, and the other hand on Tommy's lower back, supporting the man who seemed seconds away from falling asleep standing up.

"E-Buck. Could we have a word before you head out?" His mother said just as they left the room, nodding towards where his father was standing a little way down the hall.

"Uh, sure." Buck said, a little unsure.

There was a moment of silence, and Buck realized they were waiting for him to lead the conversation. "Mom, dad. This my boyfriend, Tommy Kinard, he's a firefighter pilot with the 217, based out of harbor station. Tommy, my parents."

"It's nice to-" Tommy cut himself off with a wide yawn. "Sorry. It's been quite a day. I was called out to a wildfire at Angeles Crest last night. But it's nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Buckley."

They both shook his offered hand. "It's nice to meet you too, Tommy. Buck's not introduced us to any partners before." Buck's dad replied.

"You must be exhausted after a fire like that. I'm sure Maddie and Howard would have understood if you had just gone home to sleep." His mom added.

"I promised Evan that I would do my best to make it." Tommy tried- and failed- to stifle another yawn.

Buck noticed how both his parents raised their eyebrows when Tommy called him Evan, but thankfully neither of them commented on it.

"Buck- we don't want you to think. It's not-" His mom stumbled over her words, before his dad took over.

"What your mother is trying to say, we're happy for you. We were surprised when you walked in with him, and we didn't know if this was something you'd talked about before." His dad said.

"It's new." Buck confirmed. "I didn't even realize I was interested in men until I met Tommy. Now, I really should get him home before he falls asleep standing up."

"Of course, we didn't mean to keep you. We're going to be in LA for a bit longer, to help Maddie out with everything. Maybe one day we could take you both out for brunch, so we can meet and get to know Tommy properly?" His mom offered.

"Yeah. That sounds okay. We'll look at our schedules tomorrow to see what will work." Buck wasn't expecting the olive branch, but he wasn't going to turn down the chance they were offering him. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Buck. Drive safe." His dad replied.

Buck kept playing it over in his mind as he helped Tommy down to the parking lot. It had gone better than he'd expected, better than he'd even hoped. He knew it wasn't magically going to fix everything between him and his parents, but it felt so good to know they were willing to try.

"Evan?" Tommy mumbled sleepily as Buck manhandled him into the passenger seat, frowning a little. "Did I just meet your parents?"

"Yeah, you did. You probably won't remember this in the morning, but they want to take us out to brunch one day while they're still in LA." Buck replied, buckling the seat belt and pressed a soft kiss to Tommy's forehead.

"Oh. Kay." Tommy mumbled, leaning back in the seat with his eyes closed. He was asleep and snoring softly before Buck started driving.

[changbunnies]

After The Rain With You (18+)

♡ Pairing: Farm Boy!Changbin x Princess!Reader

♡ Genre: royal au, historical au, fluff, initially intended to be light angst but i got carried away with emotion like i did with the minho fic lol, forbidden love (i cannot help myself with this trope it seems), ending is sad / bittersweet (i'm sorry !!) but also leaves hope that they'll live happily ever after ;v;

♡ Word Count: 13.9k (this was intended to be under 10k but here we are lmao oops)

♡ Summary: Y/N, a princess bored and lonely, craved nothing more than to experience the world outside of the familiar 4 walls of her bedroom in the castle. Conjuring her bravery, she snuck out of the castle walls, eventually meeting a man that would change her life forever. Changbin, a local farmer who didn't realize she's the princess, formed a close relationship with her that ineveitably turned into a budding romance. But now, met with her last moments of freedom, she prepares herself to have one final sweet moment with him before they are torn apart.

♡ Warnings: references to a parent being deceased, discussions of feeling trapped and alone, strict toxic parenting

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): reader is not a virgin during the smut scene in this but changbin is the only person they've ever had sex with, bin vaguely has a southern accent / speech style because thats how i pictures farmers talking lol, petnames (sweetheart, darlin', gendered language such as good girl), lots of kissing, biting / marking, loose dom/sub dynamics, nipple play, oral (f rec), unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, creampie, pretty self indulgent ngl lol

♡ Notes: i got the title from a short pokemon novel, iykyk. this was intended to be finished before the new year, but instead it's my first fic of 2024 and i hope you enjoy!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Freedom; something simple in definition, but not in practice, those in high positions of power always holding it out of the reach of those below them who yearn for it. It's intangible in concept, something you will never be able to see with your own eyes or grab with your own hands, but it was something you always yearned for, more than anything– and in the short time you had it, it was pure bliss.

You never considered yourself a rebellious girl, always dutifully listening to your elders, commiting manners and elegance to memory, never questioning the role you'd one day be made to accept. But in the past year, you'd found yourself having a bit of a rebellious streak– in secrecy, of course, because you knew very well that there'd be consequences to pay should your mother find out.

It's not that you ever hated being the princess, or that you dreaded the responsibility you held to your kingdom– you just wish you'd been given more freedoms. Freedom to speak your mind, freedom to feel the grass beneath your feet and the sun's rays on your skin whenever you wished, freedom to explore, to make mistakes, to learn and grow and love the way everyone else in the world but you seemed allowed to do. 

For years, there'd been a blindspot in the castle's defenses, a small patch of broken wall that guards were never ordered to defend or monitor closely, as the country had not seen war or received threat from neighboring countries in your entire lifetime.

"We'll repair it someday," your father always said before his passing, though it never came to fruition. It was not because he passed that the wall never received construction, but simply because your parents always preferred to delegate funds to something more pressing than a relatively small breach in the outer walls of the castle.

Sure, the hole was unsightly when noticed, but it was outside line of sight for the townsfolk, and much too small to accommodate an army through– one person at a time, maybe two if you squeezed, could fit through at most. Apart from that, the fact that your father never used taxes to pay towards selfish things such as unnecessary castle repair gained your family high favor, with most commoners considering your father to be the kindest king the country had in centuries.

During the time your father was still alive, you often walked the streets as a family, talking to the commoners regularly and enjoying your time out on the town together, and you remember how it always felt like you were as normal a family as any other, too young to realize there was any difference between you and them.

You can still remember how your mother smiled then, when she held your hand while your father held the other, the townsfolk always doting on you, and how cheerfully your every day had been spent. Your mother was quite different now; she never smiled anymore, and when she did it felt so.. forced, sad.

Like your father took a piece of her joy with him when he went, and she was unable to reclaim it. And it was at that time, when she took on all of the king's responsibilities by herself, that she'd begun to treat you differently. Stricter on your studies, never allowing you to step foot outside the castle, shutting down any talk of letting you out on the town or interacting with anyone outside the castle's walls.

And now the whole kingdom, who considered you to be the country's most beloved princess, could scarcely remember what you looked like; and even those who could remember would likely no longer recognize you. You were a child when you were last allowed outside, and now you were a grown woman, still confined by her mother's strict rules.

Despite the reclusive life you were forced into, many of the commoners still thought of you fondly– at least according to word of mouth from the castle's maids and knights.

You were the daughter to a king and queen that were practically revered as saints, and many imagined that the reason you were always holed up within the castle was because you were studying dutifully, imagining that when you came to power someday, you'd be just as benevolent, kind, and intelligent of a ruler as your father was.

You certainly intended to live up to those expectations, because as stated, you don't hate being the princess by any means. You recognize that you have privilege, responsibility, and that people put their pride and faith in you even now, before you've ever even come close to touching the throne. But all that being said, it didn't stop your heart from wanting just a little bit more out of your life.

Simply put, you found it incredibly dull sitting inside the castle all day, the same lessons being reiterated day in and day out, as if you didn't already have them memorized by the age of 10. Eventually, your mother realized you had no further need for a tutor, and requested that the woman in charge of your education stop coming, but that didn't mean your afternoons suddenly became enjoyable; quite the opposite in fact. 

The joy you initially held over no longer having to spend your afternoon listening to the same drivel you'd heard countless times from a pedantic old woman evaporated with the realization that even without a tutor to occupy for time, you'd still be stuck in the castle all day long. Your mother never permitted you to leave, even if you promised you'd stay close to the knights that would accompany you, pleaded with her to let you do something other than sitting inside all day. 

But still, her stance on the matter never changed. You'd begun to resent her sentiments, to hate that you were stuck with nowhere to go and nothing to do. The country wasn't under any threat, your fathers death was an unfortunate accident, and as far as you knew you were well loved, so what did she need to be so protective for? Especially now, when you weren't even a child anymore; you just couldn't understand.

You’d spend your days staring out your window listlessly, wondering what the grass on the horizon would feel like beneath bare feet. It’s a shame that you don’t know; you were always scolded for taking your shoes off if you weren’t within your own room, and besides that, the ground is littered with dirt and cobblestone all the way up to the gates of the town, which you had never gone past.

Shouldn’t your youth be full of experiencing things like this? Why couldn’t you explore now and then settle down in the castle later in life? It didn’t feel fair that you were so clueless about the basic truths of the world, and instead had your brain filled to the brim with knowledge of etiquette and politics.

It was with those thoughts in mind that you planned to find the answers to all your questions and sate your endless curiosities by sneaking through the hole in the castle walls that had gone unattended to.

After the first time you successfully snuck out to experience all you’d been missing (which took months of diligent watch and preparation to ensure you wouldn’t be spotted from a distance by patrolling knights), you’d slowly made your way further and further away from the castle, testing the limits of how far you could make it each day, gauging how long it would take for someone to notice your absence.

To your delight, because you spent most of your days alone in your room, no one seemed to notice you’d ever been gone as long as you made it back before dinner was to be served. And so, you'd stay out until sunset, exploring the town you'd grown to only ever see from your window, making sure to wear the least expensive looking gown in your wardrobe, doing your best to blend in with the commoners.

Thankfully, the task was easier than you'd expected given that none of the townsfolk had seen you up close since you were a small girl. You were perhaps strange in behavior as compared to them, given how much you questioned what was around you, but certainly not one person suspected you were the princess– just a sheltered, perhaps eccentric, young woman.  

As you became more comfortable, and got closer to the town gates with each passing day, your excitement would grow exponentially; the world beyond the gates was so foreign to you, even more so than the town itself had been. From your bedroom window, the fields that lied beyond the town gates appeared so miniscule, and you only knew what lied beyond because you’d been told about it, not because you’d seen it for yourself.

It was this determination to discover what lied beyond your limited world view that lead you to meet the man who'd come to hold your heart for the first time. You remember how your heart raced when you first approached the town gates, how your eyes darted to every corner to try to take in every minute detail.

The cobblestone became sparse, leaving nothing but dirt road to walk on, the wheels of countless carriages and horses hooves indented in the path, leading both to and away from town. You’d been told numerous times that beyond this point lies the farms that fueled the town with their food, and resources such as leather and wool to create clothing, blankets, and the upholstery on your furniture.

And for the first time in your entire life, you were about to see it all up close with your own eyes, instead of vaguely from your bedroom window.

You knew their work was vital to the prosperous existence of your country, and you’d always found yourself wanting to know what it was like, to learn about how the world works not from a dull lecture or written text, but to experience it yourself, to truly understand the lives of the people you would one day govern beyond what you’d been told.

To say you had a curious mind was perhaps an understatement; you were always full of curiosity about the world around you, but simply being told about the world wasn’t enough for you to be satisfied. 

To experience with your own eyes, to feel with your own hands– that was what being alive was truly about, wasn’t it? You didn’t feel your life was meant to be spent wasting away in your room until the day you became useful.

If you spent your youth seeing the world, learning about it from your own lived experiences, wouldn’t that make you a better queen some day? To know the plight of the common man because you lived it for yourself? 

That’s what you wanted– the freedom to explore, to learn, to grow, and when the time was right, you’d accept your duty gracefully, and play the role you were meant to. But until then, there was nothing more you wanted than to feel the earth beneath your feet, to understand what a blessing it truly is to feel the warmth of the sun beaming down on your skin, to learn what it is that makes life beautiful to live. 

With a deep inhale to steady your racing heart, you took your first step outside the town gates, trying your best to not appear too nervous and draw undue attention to yourself. You conjured all the confidence you could muster into your steps, your short heels sinking into the pure dirt before you.

It was a clear spring day, the sun welcoming you warmly, as if confirming that this was a decision you were meant to make, that following your heart and exploring the lush earth is what your true purpose was. 

You recall how different everything felt once you were fully outside the town– it was almost unbelievable how green, pretty and vibrant the outside looked when compared to the dull, monotonous grays and dirty browns you'd met with inside the town walls. And even the castle interior, while still pretty and not devoid of color like the town often seemed to be, still didn't compare to the nature that lied before you.

You saw children running through the grass without shoes, freely giggling as they play what you assume to be some sort of game, one you'd never had the chance to play. They were utterly carefree, and so full of life; how you wished you could be the same– just kick off your shoes and prance through the fields and the trees without a care in the world, with nothing to weigh you down. What a joy it must be, to live innocent and free, knowing nothing but laughter and love. 

You took time to admire naturally growing flowers, to lean down to carefully caress the petals, to feel the grass on your fingertips since you’re much too scared to actually take your shoes off despite how bad you’d have liked to. Following the road, past the sprawling fields where the children play, you eventually came to the occupied farm lands, and it was there, just before the fields turned into seemingly endless forest, that you met him for the first time.

His was the last farm for you to observe, and it held a surprise that made you positively gasp in delight; animals! You'd always thought the farm animals you’d seen in your books looked so cute, and you always wanted to feel their fur or feathers, wondering if they were truly as soft or as coarse as they were described to you.

Was a sheep’s wool still soft before it was knit into a blanket, or woven into clothing? How did a chicken's feathers feel before they were stuffed into a pillow? It was something you were endlessly curious about. 

However, you certainly knew better than to just waltz up to an animal that doesn't know you, and especially not one that is on someone else's land. So you settled for quietly observing them from outside the farm's sprawling gate, a huge smile on your face as you watched the animals graze.

Even at your distance, it was still the closest you'd ever been to an animal other than a horse, and you simply couldn't get over how cute and soft they looked. Sheep, cows, chickens, ducks– all impossibly cute, and how you wished you could go and hug them.

You propped your arms up on the wooden fence, resting your head against them as you simply watched. It was almost funny how something so simple and normal to someone else's everyday life could instill such joy and wonder with you. And that's when you saw him; a single man walking out from his quaint cottage towards the back of the land, attending to the animals and filling up what you assumed to be their feed troughs.

His home, you noticed, was put together the same way most of the town was– with stone and clay, a simple but well constructed wooden door, and a decent sized chimney on the left that you were well aware was necessary to funnel out smoke from fireplaces in homes such as his. And it fascinated you how his home could look so different from yours when it was comprised of the same materials.

When put down simply to its parts, there was nothing that separated the castle from a commoner’s home other than the sheer size of it. Your mother would often tell you not to compare yourself, or the splendor of the castle to that of commoners or their homes, but you never saw any harm in doing so. 

You’re all human, and the only difference between you and them is that you were born into a royal family and they weren’t. You think she focuses too much on title, when to you title is worth nothing beyond a name. Still, while you recognize that while you aren’t different from anyone else in a biological sense, you are when it comes to status, and you wanted to use your privileged position for good when the time came.

That is another reason you wanted to see the country for yourself, to put yourself in the shoes of the people and understand them. How can you be a good queen someday if you understand nothing of how the world truly works, or if every decision is fed to you from someone else? 

Really though you have to admit, apart from all the good reasons you had to sneak out, you equally had selfish ones. But was it so wrong to indulge your curiosity? You’ve tried many times to push aside your thoughts and to understand why you must stay solitary in the castle all day, but try as you might, this is all you want.

To see, to experience, to feel; why was it only wrong for you to want that, and not for anyone else? Even if you’re the princess, you should still be allowed basic human freedoms– that’s what you believe, anyways.

You lost yourself in thought for a time, simply staring out at the scene of the man caring for his animals in front of you. You wondered if he was happy doing this everyday; was it monotonous, or did he take pride in it? Did he love his animals, or were they strictly the avenue he'd taken to provide for himself?

You also wondered what you would be doing if you weren't the princess; would you be a farmer's daughter, spending all your days in the fields with the animals like he does? It was oddly fun to ponder on, to picture yourself leading a different life than one you'd led up to that point.

Maybe it was a form of escapism, and maybe you had more grievances with your upbringing than you'd let yourself believe at the time. Either way, a smile once again made its way to your lips as you pictured yourself feeling the fluffy wool of a sheep beneath your fingertips, as warm, soft, and comforting as a blanket in your imagination.

The man took notice of you after only a few moments, because realistically, how can he not notice a girl blatantly propped against his fence, staring at his land? He was sure he didn't know you, didn't recognize you from any of the farming families that have homes adjacent to his, and he didn't go into town nearly enough to have made friends outside his small bubble.

So who were you, and why were you staring at him like that? "Do you need somethin', miss?" The burly man called out to you as he started to approach, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.

"O-Oh, uh, no, I apologize," you stuttered out, feeling instantly intimidated as he came closer; not because he was an intimidating person per se, because while his eyes are sharp, they also have a unique softness to them.

It was his size that made you shrink back and feel small; you didn’t realize just how large the man was until he was practically face to face with you. Even the knights you’re met with daily, who undergo strict, intensive physical training, pale in comparison to the muscular physique of the man you in time came to know well.

You remember how he looked at you curiously, head tilting to the side as he watched you straighten your posture and take a step back from his fence. “I was just.. curious, about the animals. They’re very cute,” you explained and the man chuckled a bit, wiping his dirty hands on his worn trousers before stepping up to his fence.

“I take it you’re from the town then? Can’t imagine you bein’ that curious about my animals otherwise,” he replied pleasantly, a warm, sort of prideful smile on his face. It confirmed his suspicions as well– you were definitely not someone he’s met before.  

"Yes, I've only ever seen them in books," you explained further, a bit timid now as you suddenly felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you. You were sure a commoner of your age would never be as fascinated by the animals as you were; they see them every day, it's a normal part of life for them.

And you recall scolding yourself, really feeling that you needed to do a better job of hiding your lack of worldly experience when meeting new people so you'd stop having interactions like this. “I apologize again, I must appear very strange..”

“No need for that, sweetheart. I think it’s nice– I’m so used to bein’ around ‘em, that I don’t really stop and take it all in anymore. Reminds me of what I got, so thank you for that,” he replied kindly, his smile spreading an unfamiliar warmth through you in that moment.

He was very, very kind, and you appreciated that he didn't judge you or find you to be a fool for your innocent curiosity. "I could show you around, if you'd like. Let you meet them," he offered, and you positively beamed, though you really should have shown some restraint in the matter.

"Could I really?" you couldn't help but ask eagerly, eyes sparkling with pure wonder and excitement at the prospect of seeing so many things you'd never encountered before up close. “Course, just come ‘round to the front” 

With no hesitation, you eagerly turned and began to sprint (in quite unladylike fashion, you might add) to where you saw the gate to his property some time earlier. You could hear the man's laugh carry even as you ran (not advised in the shoes you were wearing, but you carried on nonetheless), stopping just in front of the small, modest gate.

You waited for the kind man to catch up to you, not wanting to do anything rude or presumptuous by stepping onto his land without being specifically directed inside. "You took off so fast, you didn't give me a chance to introduce myself," he laughed as he approached you again, and your face immediately flushed, embarrassed by your excitability over everything.

"Name's Changbin," he introduced himself warmly after he opened the gate for you. You smiled timidly, giving him your name as well and a polite bow after you crossed the border onto his property. “Pleasure to meet you, Changbin.”

"Likewise," he smiled as he closed the gate behind you, and it was then that your first true friendship began. In hindsight, it occurred to you that you should've given him a fake name; and while he did ponder on why your name seemed familiar to him, he didn't ever appear to put together that you were the princess.

What was clear to him was that you were from a wealthy family; after all, that was the only explanation he could reach to decipher some of your "odd" behaviors.

Your boundless curiosity, your utter excitement for the mundane, an unmatched passion for all the small things in life that he'd never seen before in anyone else. A light in your eyes as bright as the sun, filling him with warmth and adoration, your wonder and inquisitive nature both pure and infectious. 

He asked you once, what it is your family does, if being from the "high society" part of town near the castle is what made you live a sheltered life, why you seemed so (respectfully) clueless about things beyond the scope of inner-town workings and politics.

You were surprised when he asked, and confirmed what he suspected, though you left out some of the very important details. After all, how could you tell him that the girl he's become friends with over the past few months, didn't just live near the castle– her home is the castle.

But you divulged what little you could, confided in him that your mother has high expectations of you, that she doesn't know you spend your days with him at his farm, that if she did know she certainly wouldn't approve, and he seemed to understand.

While he may not be a high born man, he's no stranger to how haughty they can be, what with their superiority complexes and luxury goods, as if it's not working men like him that provide them with what they consume in the first place.

You weren't like that in the slightest– you were good, pure natured, with an infectious zest for life that he couldn't help but find his own joy in. Seeing you interact with the world, the happiness you gained from the simplicities in life, the wonder and curiosity you held for all things, both small and grand– it was a trait of yours he'd come to adore.

You learned from him just as much as he learned from you, and you truly reminded him how beautiful life is, how there is magic even in the mundane, what a gift it is to have, to be, and to feel. Changbin introduced you to so much, shared so many parts of his life, and you were truly the happiest you'd ever been, always looking forward to the next day you could go out and see him again.

"Have you ever ridden a horse?" he asked one summer afternoon when you were in stables together, you sat on a hay bale while you watched him care for Dolly, a beautiful, black and white dappled horse that belonged to his mother, whom she named such due to 'her mane being as beautiful as a porcelain dolls.'

"Does being escorted in a carriage count?" you asked, and he laughed, shaking his head in amused disbelief. "No, darlin', a carriage don't count," he said, smiling as you pouted ever so slightly.

You were still a child the last time you were even in a carriage, given the fact that your mother never permits you to leave. You wondered what's more enjoyable; your memory of your last carriage ride is so faded, you wondered if you could even compare the experiences, were you to ever ride a horse.

As if sensing your thoughts, Changbin made an offer that once again made you beam, radiating joy and excitement. "I could teach you how. Or let you ride with me," he offered and you were eagerly nodding without a second thought, jumping straight to your feet.

"I'd love that!" Changbin returned your smile, promising that once he got Dolly situated in a saddle, he'd take you for a ride while telling you everything he knows and answering any question you may have about it, no matter how small or seemingly silly and "common sense."

He helped you up onto her back, making sure you sat comfortably on the back of the saddle, both your legs dangling over one side of her body due to the fact that you were wearing a dress. Changbin got up onto the saddle with ease, carefully not to accidentally hit you with his leg while making his ascent. After he was settled in front of you, he instructed you to wrap your arms around his torso, as it takes time to become adjusted to the movement of the horse and naturally find your balance.

You wondered if he could feel your heart race when your chest was pressed against his back, how your palms grew sweaty from holding onto him, how your face flushed every time he called Dolly a "good girl." You wondered what it'd be like if he said the same to you, if he praised you after he encouraged you or taught you something new.

The more comfortable you got, the more he allowed Dolly to pick up speed, until she was going around the enclosed pen in a brisk trot, your arms squeezing Changbin as you giggle joyfully, feeling the wind brush by your ears and pull back your hair. It was so fun, so new, another experience Changbin granted you that you wouldn't otherwise have ever had the chance to have.

When you were finished, as the sun was beginning to set and it was time for you to get home, lest your mother send a maid to summon you for dinner and find you absent, he jumped off Dolly first. He then held out his hand to you, offering for you to take it, promising he'd make sure you got down safely.

And he did, letting you squeeze his hand as you made the unfamiliar leap off, his opposite hand coming to your back to ensure you were stable on your feet after you landed. His hand lingered on your back even after it was apparent you were steady, and yours did as well, still holding onto his other hand even though you no longer had need to.

It felt as though there was a shift between you– both staring carefully at one another, a suggestion that you could be something more than this, that there was a connection beyond that of just friendship. Slowly, with the same smile for you he always had, he pulled his hand away from your back, but didn't make you part from his other hand, letting you hold it even as he walked you to his gate.

And you felt a stutter in your heart, unlike any you'd ever felt before then, returning his smiles happily, your cheeks dusted pink as you thanked him for the afternoon and bid him goodbye. Every once in a while you'd turn back just to see him still watching you, offering a soft smile and wave each time your gazes met again.

Then, there was the time you were inside his chicken coops with him, Changbin having taught you much about how to properly care for the animals in your time near him. And after weeks of observation, you wanted to help, to really try your hand at it! You did well, for the most part– your error came when trying to get a hen away from a freshly laid egg.

You tried your best to follow Changbin's instructions carefully, but still, your inexperience was greatly apparent, and you ended up upsetting the poor thing. When she flew up in protest, it startled you so much that you fell backwards. But Changbin caught you, one of his strong arms wrapped around your back and holding you upright as if you weighed nothing at all.

You blinked up at him in surprise, face growing red as he asked if you were alright, your heart unexpectedly pounding. You muttered out an apology, voice much meeker than you wanted it to be, but he simply smiled. He helped you steady yourself again to stand on your own, ensuring you that it wasn't your fault, and that he could tell you were genuinely trying your best.

"No one gets it right on their first try, don't be discouraged. You did good, sweetheart," he said, and the words somehow made your heart race faster, face growing even pinker. You were certain then– you liked him as much, much more than a friend.

You wanted him to always praise you, to console you, to call you sweetheart in a way beyond platonic. You wanted him to look at you romantically, to call you by such sweet names in a moment of love and passion.

When you returned home that day, lying in bed after finishing dinner and washing up, your thoughts were plagued by him– much more than they usually were, and in completely different contexts. How would his strong arms feel under your fingers while he held you up, supporting all of your weight as he took you in every way conceivable, across every surface of his home.

You'd had.. less than pure thoughts before of course, so it's not like this was new to you– what was new was having an explicit object of desire, someone you wanted to lie with, someone you imagined touching you everywhere. And you wanted to touch him too, to pleasure him in all the ways he'd surely pleasure you.

There were many times you watched him work, sweat collecting on his forehead, dripping down his brow, his breath growing heavier with labor, his broad chest rising and falling quickly with exertion– would he look the same atop you, under you?

You could imagine him, his body heavy between your legs, pressing you down against his mattress. And you could imagine him staring up at you, those same grunts of effort he makes while working pouring out for new reasons, for your hands all over him.

God, you were driving yourself crazy thinking about it. Changbin noticed, on another summer day where the sun was high and hot and leaving him sweatier than usual, that your face too was hot and red. What he didn't realize was that it was for reasons beyond that of the sun beaming down on you.

"C'mon sweetheart, let's go inside. It's hot out here, ain't it?" he'd said, deciding it was time, for both your sakes, to take a well deserved break. You agreed, thankful beyond words he thought it was simply the sun making you a heated mess, and not how absolutely divine he looked chopping wood in preperation for when the weather would change in a month.

You sat on his sofa together, sipping on lemonade he made himself by hand, thankful to be out of the unforgiving sun (and to have something to focus on besides how attracted you were to him.) "You seem to be thinkin' a lot. What's on your mind, darlin'?" Changbin asked after it was quiet for a time, your cup of lemonade held in your lap as you stared off at unfixed location.

"I've.. come to like you quite a lot more than I expected. As more than a friend, I think," you answered honestly, though you didn't expect him to do anything with your feelings.

While he was your first real connection with someone, you were sure he's lived a full, experienced life. You felt that there was no reason for him to like you as you like him, but still you told him. You already hid enough about your life from him, and you didn't want your thoughts and feelings to be another one of those things you keep from him.

"I'm fond of you too. More than a friend, and more than you probably know," he replied with a soft smile, setting his empty cup to the side. You blinked, cheeks turning pink as you practically gaped at him. "Do you mean that? Sincerely?" you asked, heart thumping loudly as you too carefully set your cup aside.

"I wouldn't lie to you darlin'. 'Specially not about matters of the heart," he responded earnestly, carefully moving closer to you. You met him halfway, slowly, your eyes timidly meeting his as his hand comes towards you, resting heavy but soft on your cheek.

"Tell me truly," he almost whispers, face coming close enough to yours to feel his breath tickle your skin, "Do you want to kiss me as badly as I want to kiss you?"

"Yes," you breathed out, and not even a full second later, his lips were on yours, plush and soft, butterflies filling your stomach and truly, you couldn't ask for any greater joy than that moment.

You kissed a lot after that– in greeting and in parting, sweetly, slowly, carefully, sometimes even urgently, needily, passionately. You'd help him with as much of his daily work as you could manage, so he could finish faster and you could spend the rest of the afternoon holding one another close.

Hands exploring anywhere and everywhere, both eager, both seeking more and more and more. Both indulging in the feeling of not just pleasure, but of closeness, intimacy beyond just the physical, the love and care you share for one another.

But as quickly as your happiness was obtained, it was taken away; unbeknownst to you, on an afternoon in mid fall, shortly after breakfast, a knight had seen you squeezing through the hole in the castle's wall, eager to spend yet another day with Changbin. He didn't think you were sneaking out at first– he thought maybe he was just mistaken on what he saw.

But when he stepped over, and it became clear that you were now nowhere to be seen, he had to inform your mother, as was his duty. And there are truly no words to describe how devastated you felt when suddenly, as if from nowhere, countless knights were surrounding you, pleading with you to return to the castle, lest they have to drag you back by your mother's command.

It became a spectacle in the street, commoners whispering amongst themselves as they tried to piece together what they were witnessing. Was the sweet, smiley girl they’d seen exiting and returning to town everyday for months really the princess this entire time?

You felt as if your entire world was collapsing as they escorted you back home, your heart squeezing painfully in your chest, knowing your mother would be positively furious when your eyes next met. But no, she wasn’t just furious– she was livid, the angriest you’d ever seen her in all your years.

You pleaded with her to understand, assured her that if you were truly going to run away from home and abandon your responsibility, then you wouldn’t have returned every single time you’d left. You didn’t want to be stuck here all day, every day, bored, alone, depressed, when there was an entire world out there to see, people to talk to, experiences to be had.

You’d do everything expected of you as a princess, and later as queen, but please– just this one thing, allow me this one thing. But no, your pleas fell on deaf ears, your mother completely dismissive of your feelings and unwilling to bend her iron rules.

And so you once again became a prisoner inside your own room, tears streaming down your cheeks as you stared at the edge of town from your window, Changbin so near, yet impossibly far. Your mother didn’t know of him; you didn’t tell her, nor would you ever, as things stand now– but how you wished you could tell her, “I’ve found love, and now I understand how truly a magical thing it is. I don’t want this to be the end of my joy.” 

Weeks passed, and while the pain never left you, you learned to manage it well enough, hopeful that you’d be reunited with Changbin someday soon. But then you saw them– carpenters, working diligently to fill the hole in the castle walls that you had repeatedly used for your daily escapes.

The color drained from your face, your heart sinking into the very depths of your stomach. Your plan to simply be an obedient daughter long enough for your mother to lessen her watchful eyes on you, to one day again leave the castle once her constant vigil had relaxed, was being thwarted before it could ever truly begin. 

You anticipated to be in this act for the long haul, knowing very well it could take months, or even years, to rebuild your mother’s trust in you, but you’d never imagined she’d take away the very source of your hope mere weeks after confining you away to your room. To call a hole in the castle’s defenses your “hope” may seem foolish to most, but it was all you had– a symbol of escape, of life beyond these four walls that had become your permanent home. 

The day it was filled would be the day you’d lose everything; your freedom, your friendships, your joy, your hopes, your dreams, everything. Even as you are now, a canary trapped in her gilded cage, the promise that simple flaw in the walls gave you kept you going– the promise that someday, even if it was years and years from now, you’d be free again, doing what you loved most, being with who you loved most. 

You know your mother cares for you, she wants the best for you, and the loss of your father, the king, much too soon has deeply scarred her. She fears for you, she keeps you ever at arm’s length because she can’t bear for you to part from her, to leave her behind the way your father had, but surely this isn't the answer. Surely there was something better than this, something that didn’t necessitate you being a prisoner in your own home. 

Fear of loss and devastation ruled her life, made her trap you lest you decide to leave and never return, failing to realize that it was her very actions and treatment of you that gave those fears of hers room to become reality. But to know heartbreak is to know truest love, and even should loss plague your life, you will never regret having discovered love.

You had no desire to abandon your family, your kingdom, or run from your responsibilities, but if that was the only way to be free, if there was no other conceivable way to experience life’s joys and warmth, then.. What else was there for you to do?

Ironic, how your mother had unwittingly created a self-fulfilling prophecy when she forbade you from living a life of your own, her own actions resulting in the very outcome she feared most of all.

You have to do something, anything, now, before it’s too late, and you are left with nothing but the fleeting memories of the man you hold so dear. You bide your time, waiting until nightfall when the carpenters have left for the night to make your move.

Your mother has posted knights to the spot now, instructed to keep a watchful eye should you try again to leave the premises, but you think with the right timing, you can slip out unnoticed. There’s a small window of time where, when the knights standing guard rotate shifts, the hole in the castle’s walls will have no one standing in front of them.

It’s risky, and if you’re too slow you’ll be spotted by the new knights taking over for the ones who departed, but it’s the only chance you have, so you need to take it. As soon as the knights previously keeping watch over the area get far enough away, you dart for the breach in the castle.

The hole is definitely smaller than it was before, but you still manage to squeeze past just fine, with seconds to spare. You hear the sounds of the new knights approaching as you begin to sprint away, luckily having not noticed anything amiss.

The streets are much different at night, the subtle illumination from the candles in the surrounding buildings hardly enough to point you in the right direction. You look to the horizon instead, hoping that the dark line of trees on the horizon will be enough to guide you to the gate leaving town.

Some who notice your desperate run call out, concern evident in their voice, but you can’t stop for them, can’t stop until you’ve made it to Changbin’s side. And though it is not without struggle, you do, eventually, thankfully, find your way out of the town.

You’re panting, chest heaving as your heart pounds and your lungs desperately try to suck in air once you’ve made it completely outside the town gates– but still, you aren’t where you need to be, so you can’t stop yet. Pushing yourself to your very limits, even as your legs scream at you and harsh cold pricks your skin, you can finally make out Changbin’s land in the tree-lined horizon.

Reaching the gate to his property, you push it open in haste, taking hardly any steps past the threshold before you collapse to your knees, the ache and exhaustion refusing to be ignored any further. You bring a hand to your heart, taking a few seconds to calm yourself and breathe before you attempt to rise back to your feet.

But your legs refuse the action, much too weak to support you beyond what they’ve already done. It’s good enough, you suppose; they’ve carried far, with much more urgency than you’d ever thought possible. And now you’re right here, so close to where you need to be– and despite being a princess, you’re not above crawling your way over to Changbin’s door if you must.

Once more, you try– and though weak, and unsteady, you are able to rise once more. You can’t run, can hardly even walk as sore and as exhausted as your legs are, but they carry you as far as they can, recognizing the urgency you feel, aiding you as much as it can in your last, desperate effort.

Your throat is dry, it hurts, but you call out Changbin’s name regardless, hoping he’s awake, hoping he hears you, hoping he’ll wrap his arms around you, kiss you, console you, even if it’s just this one last time.

It’s been over a month since the last time Changbin saw you, and there’s so many questions he can’t help but ask himself, that he wishes he could ask you, so he didn’t spend all his hours distracted with worry and self-doubt. There had been gaps in the time you spent together before, but never for this large of a duration of time– a week usually at most.

Did he do something wrong the last time you were together? Or did your strict mother finally learn of your deceit, and now made you keep away, unable to return to his side though you may have wished to? He just wishes he knew for certain what it is, so that even if he was saddened, he did not have to have his mind consumed by what if’s and uncertainties.

There was a time, even, where he considered going into town and asking of you, but he was worried that doing so would only create more problems for you if the wrong person caught word of his inquiries. So all he could was wait– wait, and hope, that you would return again before year’s end, and that he would have the answers he so desperately craves to his questions.

Most of all, he just hopes you’re well; you’d expressed more than once that you loved your life and your family, you just didn’t want to feel trapped. You wanted to have choices, to feel like your thoughts and opinions matter, to be allowed to live as most other people do when they are not burdened with what their future will be.

Whenever you spoke of home, he always found it unfair, and he felt for you. You loved your mother, dearly, but he could see how you struggled with her rules, how sadness lingered in your eyes and resent bubbled up within you despite how you tried to not feel such things. 

And though he understood why you could not, he wished at times that you could simply stay with him– to not have to depart the moment the sun began to sink, to lie in bed with him all night, to have breakfast and dinner together, to live without worry together.

He’d work hard for you, even harder than he does now, and it’d be worth it to see you smile at him as you always do, so bright and full of light, keeping each other company on your loneliest days and nights. Changbin sighs, exhaustion plaguing him as he sits before the small fire he has going in his living room, head falling back against his sofa.

He hasn’t slept well these past few nights– he just can’t help but think of you at all hours, and every time he closes his eyes to sleep, he’s met with the image of you. It keeps him up, though not all his thoughts of you are plagued by unpleasant worry– sometimes it’s simply just the image of you smiling or laughing, and he feels nothing but warmth, even as he is reminded how much he truly misses you. 

Should you never return again, for whatever reason that may be, he doesn’t think he would ever regret having known you and given his love to you. Short-lived though your romance may be in the grand scheme of his life, and all the years he may be blessed to live, it was of the utmost importance.

He’d be remiss to let those memories become tarnished or devalued. You reminded him of how much joy there is in life, how grateful he is to have what he does, how much beauty there is in even the smallest of things. 

Another sigh leaves his lips as he lifts his head, rubbing carefully at his weary eyes– he should probably try to rest soon, though he feels sleep will likely stay out his reach for some time after his head hits the pillows. He stands from the sofa, preparing himself to extinguish the fire and head to bed, when he hears a strange, unfamiliar sound from outside his door.

A thud, almost– as if something with a not insubstantial amount of weight thumped to the ground. It couldn’t be his logs; he knew the sound of falling logs well enough to recognize the distinct sound made when one toppled– and often times when one fell, more followed.

This was unlike that entirely, only one sound followed by silence, and the sound itself was still too dense to be one of his pieces of chopped wood. The sound felt more.. concentrated; an animal perhaps? And if it was an animal, he couldn’t let it go ignored– especially not if it was one of his own. 

As Changbin steps closer to his door to investigate the sound, he hears something else entirely unexpected– a frail voice.. your voice..? Rushing to his door now, he opens it in haste, eyes darting to find the source of what he heard. And there, he sees you, collapsed to the ground before him, looking up at him with a mix of relief, exhaustion, and anguish.

Your name leaves him in a gasp as he leans down to you, concern evident in his voice and expression. His hands reach out to touch you and shit, your body is freezing; you are woefully ill dressed for the late fall chill, and who knows how long you’ve been out in it with nothing but your dress. 

Quickly, he picks you up, carrying you inside and using his foot to kick the door shut behind him. “Just sit here a minute,” he says as he sits you down on the sofa, rushing to his room to grab all the blankets and pillows he can carry.

He prepares a sort of makeshift bed on the floor in front of the fireplace, laying down all the blankets and pillows he collected, his intention being to have you lay by the fire and spread some much needed warmth through your chilled body. Changbin scoops you back up when he’s satisfied with his work, very carefully laying you down a close (yet safe) distance to the fire, nestling beside you after and laying an additional blanket over your bodies.

He has so many questions, his mind is racing, but they can wait– making sure you’re not going to suffer frostbite is of much more importance. He lets you use him for warmth, not complaining a bit when your cold limbs tangle with his, letting you sap his warmth and take it for your own. 

He brings his hands to your face, warming your cold cheeks in his palms, looking you over carefully. You looked unhurt, thankfully– he has no idea what you’ve gone through, but he’s glad you’re here now, and looking well, all things considered.

“Do you want to tell me what’s happened?” he asks softly, pushing the fallen hair away from your eyes, letting him meet your gaze without obstruction. You swallow down your bubbling emotion, wanting to be clear and concise, to leave no room for confusion or error. 

“My mother is very strict, as you know.. She enforced her rules more harshly after she discovered how I’d been spending my time. I had to sneak out again just to be here,” you answer, and his brows furrow.

“Again..? Have you been sneaking out to see me all this time?” he asks, and you nod, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Changbin knew your mother had strict rules, he knew she didn’t approve of her daughter meeting with those of lower class, but that wasn’t the extent of it? 

This whole time, he thought your lie to your mother was simply that you exited town– not that you left home entirely. He was under the impression that you were still allowed out on the streets, at the very least; not that you were caged up inside all day like some sort of bird. But this.. This was outrageous, cruel. To not let your daughter out of the house at all? That’s what you’d been dealing with this entire time? 

Relationships with parents are complex, but he almost can’t even believe you still love her after all this, that you still want to uphold whatever ambitions it is that she has for you; if it were him, he doesn’t think he could stand it. He followed in his parents footsteps because he wanted to, not because he was forced to.

And he doesn’t imagine you’d be much different from him in that regard. Naive though you may be at times, you had a strong sense of responsibility, and were intelligent in matters he was clueless on, a completely different kind of intellect from his own. Surely she didn't have to be so strict with you.

“You can stay with me,” he wants to say, “I’ll never make you do a single thing you don’t want to do, you’ll always be respected and happy.” But he knows you’d refuse, your sense of pride in yourself and responsibility simply too strong to abandon just because of one obstacle, harsh though that obstacle may be.

In equal measure, you don’t think you could ever ask him to stay with you. How much would he have to give up to be with you? You don’t want to ask that of him– to make him give up his home and all he holds dear just to be stuck in the castle with you. He doesn’t even know you’re the princess in the first place.

And though you love him, it’s painfully apparent that you’re in two separate worlds that may not be destined to converge though you wish them to. “I don’t want this to be the end,” you say, hot tears finally starting to fall as you the emotion unleashes itself from the depths of where you’d pushed them down, “I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.”

God, Changbin feels like his heart is shattering. It’s so painful to see you reduced to this, you who is always so bright and vibrant in her joy, brought low to tears and heartache. Why must you endure this? Does your mother truly not understand how much pain she causes you but not allowing you to simply live?

“Don’t think like that. If you say it’s the end, then it will be,” he whispers, the pain in his own voice evident despite how he tries to hide it behind a mask of strength for your sake. The tears flow from your eyes and you let him rub them away with his thumb, let him fill your head with impossible, sweet promises.

Your whole life was clouded in dreadful, dreary rain, and there’s nowhere you wanted to be more after the rain cleared than with Changbin. What a ray of sunshine he was, even without intending to be– the light that illuminated your otherwise dark existence. And how painful it was to know that come morning, it would all become nothing but a memory from your youth. 

You lean forward to kiss him, tears continuing to leak from the corners despite having your eyes closed now. You want to tell him you love him, but you fear that saying so will only make the act of parting that much harder and painful.

You fear that no matter how much time passes, the name of your first love will forever be written in your heart, that you will never stop loving him even should you lead lives separate from one another. And still, you have no regrets, because for a time you felt truest joy and love, and what a gift it was to share with him. 

Taking his hands from your face, he pulls you closer, your entangled limbs being woven together more complexly, your torsos now completely flushed to one another. His arms wrap around and hold you tight, as if lessening his hold on you would cause you to dissipate.

And you will disappear, but not now– not while he has you like this, not when you are where you long to be most. Your tears slow, eventually receding completely as your lips touch. If this is truly your last moment together, you have decided you will not spend it wallowing in sorrow– you will enjoy all you can, you will memorize every detail, you will etch it in your very soul.

“Are you warm enough?” Changbin asks after he separates from you, though still close enough that his breath lingers on your lips. “Could be warmer,” you answer and he chuckles softly, kissing you again, his hands roaming down the expanse of your body, to your hips. 

“Want me to add more to the fire?” he asks, a playful lilt in his voice as he knows that’s not what you’re insinuating. While you normally speak quite openly and honestly, you become.. meek within intimate moments.

Changbin always finds it incredibly cute, how you dance around what you mean, waiting for him to get the hint and give you what you want. He always gets the hint, but it’s adorable to see your blush grow hotter, to see you stumble with your words when he plays dumb about what you mean, or purposely misunderstands just to make you state what you want clearly. 

“It certainly wouldn’t hurt, but..” you trail off, chewing on your lip nervously as you meet his eyes again. He raises his brow but says nothing, smiling patiently as he waits for you to speak your mind. It makes the blush on your face flare, how he always waits for you to say it directly when you want to be intimate with him.

However, he doesn’t intend to waste too much time making you flustered like this; it’s just.. If this is the last time like you seem to believe, then he wanted to see it again now, before the opportunity was lost to him. 

“I’ve missed you a lot, you know. I want you to touch me,” you finally answer and his smile brightens, furthering the embarrassment you feel as heat rushes to your face. But better than being cold like you were earlier, you suppose; maybe you should welcome the way his reaction makes you feel, since it never fails to make your face and body hot.

“You missed me, darlin’? I missed you too,” he smiles, kissing your face, your lips, your jaw, your neck, “thought about you every damn day.” His low voice near your ear makes you shudder, his soft kisses down your neck, to your shoulder, furthering the feeling.

You never let him mark your skin, afraid of what consequences would come from your mother finding out what you’d been doing, but you’re tempted to let him tonight– if you’re going to be punished regardless, why not be selfish, go out with a display?

“Binnie, leave a mark on me, please,” you shamelessly plead, calling his name in the way you know he loves to hear you speak. Changbin lifts his head from your shoulder, meeting your gaze with uncertain excitement. God, he’d love to, but..

“Are you certain? What of your mother?” he asks carefully, pushing your hair behind your neck to expose more of your skin. He may be apprehensive out of concern, but the minute you make it clear you have no reservations, he’s obliging without restraint, giving you everything you ask– anything you want, you’ll have it. 

“I don’t care what she thinks anymore, I want her to know that I.. have someone I love,” you answer sincerely, and he smiles, his heart feeling like it’s expanding in size. “You love me?” he asks, and you return his smile as you nod, because though you were scared to tell him, you are glad you did. His reaction to the information was completely worth it, his eyes sparkling with deep emotion and fondness for you. 

“I love you too. More than you probably know,” he says, mirroring what he said when he confessed that he liked you too, and he lets you pull him into a kiss, your affection radiating. There’s a soft giggle that escapes him, not being able to help how giddy your love makes him feel, how you love him despite what people in your life expect from you.

If he could, he’d assure them all how well he’d take care of you, how he’d make sure you never suffered a day in your life because of him. He suspects your mother doesn’t care much about your happiness, but if she did, if she gave him the chance to prove it, he wouldn’t rest until he gave you the entire world, until she could see your love as true. 

You lay your head back to the pillows, tilting it comfortably so that Changbin has more access to your skin. His breath warms you, and you all but tremble with anticipation when you feel his lips on you again, knowing your skin will finally bear his mark after all this time.

You’ve seen such a mark briefly on your maids that you know to have lovers, how they try to hide them with their hair or makeup, the sort of shame and embarrassment they feel when they realize you’ve noticed it. You will have no such shame; you will wear them proudly, in a show that is simultaneously of love and rebellion.

"I have and I know love, and that is all that matters." And people will certainly have opinions, but you’ve sacrificed enough to them. If there is only one day you can live selfishly for the rest of your life, you want it to be this day; and even as the marks fade, they will serve as a reminder of what you once had. 

He plants open mouthed kisses to your neck, the feeling of his tongue and teeth grazing you adding to the anticipation you feel. Your fingers tangle in his dark, unruly curls, as he carefully, almost gently, sucks and bites at your supple skin, leaving behind a string of beautiful, red, blue, and purple bruises.

There’s a tinge of pain, yes, but the excitement grows beyond the subtle sting, transforming it almost entirely into pleasure. When Changbin’s finished with one side, he lies you on your back and does the same to the other, your eyes fluttering closed as you tilt your head for him to have more room to work.

You unintentionally tug on his hair when his teeth meet a particularly sensitive spot, and you would’ve apologized had he not groaned in delight from the feeling. You learned something new about him every time you were intimate, and this discovery in particular had your stomach flipping.

“Want you to take it off,” he mumbles in reference to your dress, pulling at the fabric that had begun to bunch up at your thighs. You hum, detangling your hand from his hair and letting him sit up, watching as he lifts his own shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside.

In all the times you’ve seen Changbin’s skin bare, you never stopped being amazed at how divine he looked. He was so big and strong, it always left you breathless, his cute, soft stomach a direct contrast from the bulk in his arms and chest. And then there was the small patch of hair that led from his belly button to the waistband of his trousers that always left you hungry to see the rest of him. 

Still feeling a bit weak from your exertion prior, you ask Changbin to help you remove your dress, which he is more than happy to do. He’s careful with the fabric, though you’ve decided you don’t care about it at this particular moment, and he sets it aside with much more care than he did his own clothing. What a gentleman he is, you think, taking the extra time to care for your clothes even when he’s met with you bare before him.

Well, not entirely bare– you still have your undergarments on, and after deciding you’d see Changbin today no matter what, you purposely wore your prettiest pair. A beautiful, intricate and delicate white lace, one you might aspire to wear on your wedding night. He looks you over in awe, taking in all your details. You were always beautiful, but your choice in clothing somehow enhances it, drives his excitement even further. 

“Fuck, you’re stunning. How did I get so lucky?” Changbin questions aloud and you smile, a soft giggle escaping you as he leans back down to kiss you. “Take your pants off too, otherwise it isn’t fair,” you playfully complain and he grins, letting out a giggle of his own as lifts himself back up.

“Maybe I spoil you too much, giving you everything you want so easily,” he responds to your complaint with one of his own, trying not to smile so that he appears serious– though you are easily able to read that he’s playing around, just as you were. 

“You give me everything I want because I’m a good girl for you though, right?” you ask and he whines audibly; you admitted early on in your sexual relationship that you were curious about being called such things. When he tried it out, it was discovered that he liked saying it just as much as you liked being called it.

It’s not just saying it to you that he likes either– hearing you call yourself one, saying it’s just for him.. that’s what really gets him going. And while he doesn’t want to be presumptuous and say you belong to him, especially not after all you’ve suffered through, he definitely belongs to you.

You don’t anticipate Changbin pulling his underwear down with his trousers, but the sight of his cock is never unwelcome. It’s already hard and leaking, and when he leans down to you once again, you can feel it pressing against your bare thigh, smearing its fluid on your skin. It always excites you how hard he gets from your body, always enjoyable watching him get riled up just from looking at you bare or from saying a few sweet words. 

“You’re dangerous,” he says with a small huff, and before you can come back with more words to make his cock throb, he’s kissing you again, this time with much less softness, quickly shoving his tongue past your lips.

You welcome it, opening your mouth for him, letting his tongue lick yours. The feeling always makes you light-headed in the most delicious way possible– it’s intoxicating to put it simply, and you would kiss him for hours and hours if given the chance. 

His hands come to your bra, unhooking it easily after all the practice he’s had, and though he could easily toss it aside, he breaks away long enough to set it down gently. You giggle at how he’s still treating your clothes with care even while this hard and eager, but that’s what makes you love him so much.

Returning to your mouth, he nips and sucks at your bottom lip, and you mewl at the sting, which Changbin always gladly soothes with his tongue before repeating. His fingers roll, pinch, and tug your nipples, not too hard, but enough to have you whining and squeezing your legs together.

They were always so sensitive in Changbin’s rough, calloused hands, and there were times you felt you could cum simply from the stimulation of them alone– especially when he used his mouth at the same time. And he did just that when he pulled away to stop kissing you, though not right away.

He kissed all over your chest, leaving love bites and sucking small, almost delicate bruises onto the sensitive skin of your breasts, not yet touching your nipples with his tongue and teeth. You told him to mark you, and it seems he was determined to do it everywhere– not that you had any objections. It was a bit strange, seeing your chest bitten and the color of your flesh changed, but you equally enjoyed it, loved the physical proof that Changbin was on you. 

When his tongue finally swirled around one of your nipples, you let out a breathy moan that quickly turned into a drawn out whimper when he used his teeth. He made sure not to hurt you too overtly, to just give you enough of that sweet sting you found so enticing and pleasurable, and in return you gave him that same delicious feeling by tugging on his hair every time you felt good. 

Your panties were soaked by the time he stopped giving your breasts attention, and though you hadn’t reached your peak from the stimulation, you felt so close. Resuming his path down your body, Changbin’s cock throbs and twitches when he’s met with evidence of your excitement, your white panties darkened by how damp they’ve become.

He doesn’t pull them down right away– he kisses your legs first, and then your thighs, leaving behind the same kisses and marks he gave to your chest and neck. Your inner thighs are especially sensitive, and it causes you to jolt and whine when he sinks his teeth into the meat of them.

He’s got you so impossibly worked up, you feel like you could cry when he finally gives your neglected heat the attention it craves. He praises you before he slides your panties down your legs, and there’s a relieved sort of noise coming from your throat that makes Changbin chuckle. 

You keen when his tongue finally slips between your folds, licking and sucking up everything you have to offer him. There’s an enthusiastic hum that leaves his lips when your fingers tangle in his hair again, followed by a moan when you pull and tug. Your legs are trembling and twitching so much, constantly threatening to close around his head, that he has to push them down to keep you how he wants you.  

It’s when his tongue meets your clit that you really start to lose yourself, your hips jolting up and back arching, legs quivering when he wraps his lips around it and sucks. You’re panting, begging him for more, incoherently mumbling and babbling about how close you are, and within seconds you’re seeing white, eyes rolling back as further arousal gushes on his face.

He licks your release up with another eager hum, dragging out the feeling until you’re a quivering, overstimulated mess beneath him. You release your hold on his curls when you finally come down from your high and your body relaxes, opening your eyes to see Changbin grinning at you, evidently proud of the fact that he got you to cum so intensely.

He kisses you softly, quick and chaste, not trying to hinder you from taking any of the breaths you need, just wanting to show his affection. “What do you want next, darlin’? Since I’m givin’ you everything you want,” he asks, rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he awaits your answer.

“W-Want to be on top but.. I’m still feeling pretty weak. Especially after that,” you reply with a slight blush, and he giggles again, cooing at you as if you’re just so sweet and cute (and to be fair, you are– you always will be, at least to him.)

“S’okay sweetheart, I can help you,” Changbin says sweetly, giving you one more kiss before he’s lying down on the makeshift bed and pulling you on top of him. Your legs are on either side of them, his hands on your hips, looking up at you with pure affection. 

“This good? Comfortable?” he asks, and you hum with a nod, smiling just a bit as you lean down to kiss him again. Normally, given how thick he is, Changbin would prep you before having you take his cock, but given how wet and excited you are, he doesn’t think the prep is as necessary (and you might not be patient enough for it after all the build up to this point regardless.)

He helps you line yourself up with his cock, both of you letting out your own shaky noises as you sink down on him. “Atta girl, keep goin’, just like that, sit on me all the way,” he encourages you, and you do just as he asks.

Your hands tightly gripping his biceps to ground and support yourself as you sit flush with his body, the back of your thighs meeting the top of his. He rubs your thighs and legs, trying to show soothing affection as you adjust and settle, listening attentively to all the trembling exhales and noises you make. 

You look so beautiful atop him, illuminated in the gentle, warm glow of the fireplace, your hair having fallen in a way that messily, yet somehow perfectly, frames your face. He can see everything– your breasts, your stomach, your thighs, beautifully painted with all the marks he left behind. You can feel him twitching and throbbing inside you, but he doesn’t rush you along, lets you take all the time you need. 

You feel him twitch again when you lean down to kiss him, and it’d make you giggle if it also didn’t make a wave of pleasure shoot through your body. You move your hands to his chest to support your own weight better, rolling your hips as you coax your tongue into his mouth.

He lets out a moan from deep in his chest as you move, his tongue wasting no time in meeting and dancing with yours, his fingers squeezing at the already tender meat of your thighs. You lift yourself back up to begin moving in earnest, your hands still planted firmly on his chest for support as you slide yourself up and down his length.

The slow pace, while it still feels good, isn’t enough for either of you, and soon enough you find yourself practically bouncing on his cock, the sound of your thighs repeatedly slapping down on his echoing into the room. Changbin curses, biting his lip as he watches you, using his hands to help guide you up and down, trying to ease some of the ache in your legs. 

He thrusts upward into you when your pace starts to stutter and lose rhythm, and you gasp, eyes rolling back as he hits the perfect spot again and again. It reaches a point where his hands simply hold you in the right place while he exerts all his effort, feet planted firmly on the ground while he does all the work from below. Your nails dig into his skin, head falling back as you feel your release building up again. 

Changbin effortlessly flips your positions, though he is careful not to hurt you in his haste. He just wants to make you fall apart again, and it’s easier to do that if he doesn’t have to control your movements– just his own. He resumes the pace he held from below, bringing two of his fingers to your clit and rubbing in quick circles, unable to help the way he moans when he feels you clench around him even tighter in response. 

“B-Bin, please, Binnie, so close,” you babble and whine, your hands twisting the blankets beneath you. “I know sweetheart, let go, be a good girl and give it to me,” he grunts out, and again, you feel white hot pleasure coursing through your veins, your vision blurring and mind growing fuzzy as you let go.

“Good girl, just a little more, just need you to hang on for a little more,” he both instructs and praises, pulling out just long enough to flip you to your stomach, pushing back into your heat just as quickly as he left it. You whimper loudly, fingers clutching desperately at the pillow your head rests on, Changbin bringing a hand around your body to lift your hips ever so slightly.

He was hitting your spot deliciously from this angle, the pleasure so great that tears once again pricked the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall with each gasp and whimper you released. You turn your head back as much as you can, delighted in the visage of Changbin’s head thrown back in pleasure, 

He always got rougher when he started to get close, his hands always tightening their grip, his thrusts, while growing less rhythmic, became harsher and faster, almost desperate, and it was always a treat to experience. You loved watching him lose himself to the pleasure, loved that it was you and your body that brought him there, loved how his grunts and moans transformed into higher pitched whimpers and whines. 

You bring your own fingers to your clit, wanting to let him enjoy and focus on his release since he already spent so much time on your pleasure. He leans forward, his chest pressed into your back, his hot breath hitting your ear, his whines and praises pouring directly into it.

“Fuck, sweetheart, feel so good, ‘m gonna- fuck, gonna fill you up,” he stammers out, and it sends a shiver down your spine, your stomach erupting in countless butterflies, driving you to speed up the motion of your fingers. 

You release again with a strangled cry, gushing around his length and on your fingers. Changbin follows closely behind, the feeling of you clenching and squeezing around him as you cum for the third time sending him over his peak. He releases in long, drawn out spurts, both of you breathless and exhausted when he collapses next to you.

You both know you should get cleaned up, but you’re both too tired to care, and he can always clean up his messes in the morning. For now, he just wants to stay close, here in front of the fire, with you. This very well could be your last night together, but he doesn’t want to believe it is. He wants to believe that the two of you can find a solution somehow, that after all the hardship, you’ll be smiling at him in the end.

There’s a part of you that doesn’t even want to fall asleep at all– you want to stay up all night, to not waste a single moment you have left, to stare and feel and love until the very last second, so that you’ll remember him clearly always. You do your best to not become teary eyed again, having promised yourself you wouldn’t spend your night with him wrapped up in your sorrow and dread.

But oh, how you wish there was more time, how you wish that your mother would understand you, that you could have just this one thing. But you suppose for a girl with immense responsibility, happiness is too much to ask for. You sacrifice your happiness so that others may have it instead– as noble an act as any, but you selfishly wish you could have both; the people’s happiness and your own. 

The idea of running away still leaves you torn, even after all this time. You don’t want to let anyone down.. but still, you have to ask yourself, is doing what’s right for your kingdom and future worth all this heartache? If it’s what is right, why does it make your heart feel as if it’s been shattered like glass? You’ve been told in life that the right thing to do is never the easiest, but you can’t imagine that in this case, walking away from either side is right. 

You want both. Is that truly so wrong? You want to be a ruler worthy of her name and title, and you want Changbin. Why must you choose one over the other? As far as you’re aware, even now, Changbin doesn’t know you’re the princess.

He’ll likely find out soon– every knight in the town will be floundering to find you come morning, once they realize you’re gone. You should slip away before then, lest your lover be met with undue scrutiny and unfair treatment from your mother and other nobles if you're found here. 

But looking at him now, even still.. you don’t want to leave. You’ll never want to leave. “Sweetheart,” Changbin calls softly, his hand reaching up to leave comforting, lingering touches to your head. “I can tell what you’re thinkin’. But don’t be sad yet, not ‘til we’ve said goodbye.”

You blink away the accumulating tears with a nod, swallowing down the lump in your throat the best you can and burying your face into Changbin’s welcoming body. You’re so, so tired, and you know he is too, but he’s trying his best for you. And he’s being the strong one despite how much his heart aches with yours.

He rubs your head, kisses your temple, tells you he loves you. Your heart breaks and mends all at once; how bittersweet this moment is.. If you’re lucky, you'll have about 7 hours until anyone realizes you’re gone. Maybe you can sleep for just a few, just enough to get some of this ache out of your body, and then you can spend the rest with Changbin. 

You’ll cry, you know, as soon as you depart back home. You’ll cry when the hole in the castle’s defenses is completely sealed. You’ll cry when you look to the fields his home sits on from the bedroom window. Still.. you do your best to uphold your promise to yourself, and now to Changbin.

You won’t cry, and you won’t be upset– not yet, anyways. Not until you’ve actually parted ways. For now, you’ll continue to lie in his arms, continue to express your love for him, continue to smile and laugh as if this isn’t the end, until morning comes and reminds you painfully that it is. 

How beautiful it was to love Seo Changbin, to learn and to grow and to really live with his help, patience, and care. How fondly you’ll miss him in every moment, how lovingly you’ll always hold his memory. Brief though your love together is, much shorter than it should have been, it has changed you for the better, and you’ll never regret it, even should your heart ache.

And maybe Changbin is right; maybe there is room for hope, and maybe you’ll see each other again much sooner than you allow yourself to think. But no matter what lies before you, there is one thing for certain; Changbin is and always be will your first love, forever be etched in your heart– your lover, your deepest connection, your closest confidant. And how grateful you are to have known him.

[sunnylands-world]

something really angsty like make me sob buttt a happy ending💀💀💀💪🏻💪🏻😘😘

It cuts deep

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Harry Potter sister reader

Summary: you've lost your only family and the boy you loved may have been the cause…

Word count: 998

Warning: death, slapping, mentions of blood, reader gets depressed, angst to fluff

Universe: Harry Potter

A/n: sorry this took a bit I was trying to figure all of it out 😕 but here it is!! 🤍

It was like a barrier of safety broke, everything you knew was right, comforting was gone and burning at your feet. Your eyes watered, maybe you didn't want to accept it but there it was… he'd killed your only family, your brother, Harry. It hurt More because you got to look into his eyes as he choked on the blood in his throat and you tried to paint the image pretty, see a day where he was smiling on the train and fixing his glasses or winning in quidditch but you couldn't because you could hear him suffering, nearing the end.

The closer he got the more you realized there'd be no more memories. You'd never see him at the table for breakfast or with his friends. There was a hollow in your stomach like it had dropped. The tightness in your throat and the heaviness in your chest as you tried to breathe filled your ears with it and you couldn't hear anything around you. Your body was weakened as someone pulled you from him as he was gone now and you'd shut down completely.

It didn't take long for Draco to appear trying to talk to you. A soft knock came to your door as you stared into the space. You didn't answer. The door opened and he entered looking like he'd just been heartbroken, told he wasn't needed.

"[Name] i-"

"Get out" you say calmly but he tried to push it, when you repeated it you screamed like you were warning someone to run as you stood slamming your fist against his chest tears leaving your eyes like water from a fossiet only you couldn't turn it off, you never had been able to. Your aggression turned soft as he grabbed your wrist.

"I understand your upset but you need to let me explain what happened before you ran in." He says pulling you Into his chest; and as your headrest against him you quickly become enraged again. It felt repulsing, disappointing, being against your brother's killer even more as you remember that night. You pushed yourself from him regretfully, eyes filled with fire and you could burn him to the ground since there was no water to put out the heated flame.

"Explain that you killed him! Left him to bleed in my arms!" You questioned and he didn't respond. you scoffed, tongue poking the inside of your cheek as you nodded in understanding.

"You know what Draco Malfoy, you're no different than your distasteful father. You practically become him. You don't care about anyone's feelings, you hurt people inflicting pain on innocent people for no reason at all. Are you power hungry as well? Want everyone to feel intimidated by you? Well guess what?" You walk towards him whispering in his ear.

"Everyone knows you're a coward who cries in your mother's arms about your problems because you're no man." He reacts to it like he's never done before, slapping you across the face making you stumble backwards holding your cheek. His eyes widen for a second but he shakes his head leaving you. You stay in that room rotting away feeling like life has no purpose. You're close to resembling a skeleton as you ignored the rumble of your tummy, too afraid to Conquer the world, Knowing that if you go out he won't be there.

You haven't left your bed either.

You can't care about hygiene now. You never want to see the light of day again, it feels easier to give up than to deal with anything else. You're not sure how long it's been and your only source of knowledge comes from the light coming through your window and the switch to dark, though sometimes you don't sleep anymore.

Maybe it's been weeks, possibly months but one of the days a knock comes to the door, but like before you don't answer. It opens and Draco comes in, only this time you don't fight him.

He walks to your bathroom and the sound of running water follows him. He's in there for awhile before he comes out taking you from the bed. He places you on the toilet seat pulling your dirty clothes from you. You look dull and almost like you're paralyzed not moving brarly blinking as he puts you in the water. It steamed as your body relaxed. He grabs your body's wash and hair soap, brings them to the side of the tube and takes your place on the toilet.

"I didn't kill your brother," Draco says, pouring the liquid on a cloth.

"I was coming to save him when the others got to him first and I…I ran. after I found him dead I was…was afraid of what you'd think and I'm sorry, I'm sorry for slapping you, I'm sorry for everything I just need you to forgive me please." He said bring the cloth across your back the hot water making you shiver. You didn't know why you would need to hate him if he didn't do it but a part of you wanted someone to blame and have punished for it; But he didn't do anything so he didn't deserve this.

"I forgive you," you whispered. He sighed, massaging the shampoo in your hair as your eyes fluttered.

"I love you and I'd never do anything to hurt you, you know that right?" He asked and you nod inhaling.

"I know, and I'm sorry too, I just- I just didn't know I was so angry after everything I turned my back on everyone" you explained. He places a gentle kiss on your shoulder blade.

"You don't have to explain yourself [name]. I didn't think you hated me otherwise you would have put me out now, but I know you can't resist me. I'm a sexy angel." he teased and you let out a small laugh

"You're the devil." you giggled feeling a bit lighter now that he was here…innocent.

he grinned "I know."

Draco's lovers and requests

@alexxavicry, @sarahthehuffpuff, @supercoffeeblogs, @thatwattpadobsessed, @amyclare04, @kyracanwrite, @animeloverfreak310, @imafangirl22, @phildunphyisadilf, @jac1ndaa

[cometcrystal]

wow-ow-ow UHHUUHHU hey, it's not a toy! yo penmaster! hoagie, cum! cum? wow-ow! cumming! touch that gunk! the penmaster is Gay ooh baby what a man! it's BROKEN. i think i could lubricate with my CUM that's no good, it needs some REAL juice! mom warned me there'd be days like this. if you lick it, you'll shock your tongue. hold on! i feel like im about to Suck you. now THAT'S service! MMMMMM CH hello! i'm a tentacle! wow! i'd like to enter your Butt Gay I'm attracted, yet repulsed. there's something in theeere :) it's mr tentacle guyyy :) the british are cumming! YOOOO Hoagie and Laverne! Now THAT'S service! gaygaygaygaygay ahhhh! how'd you like that, huh? going to do something about it? ;) cum GAYYYYYYYYYYY nice cock! lick it! Lick it. heck no! hehehe :) it might go off LICK IT. it's hard enough as it is! GAY. penmaster, lick it i usually eat that kind of thing with my hands! GAY. i might slosh it all over his face! GAAAY. couldn't i please touch the cock? you're going to get really chafed hands doing that! dang! the father of our country is GAY MMMMM-MMM-MMM the vaaa-lley jumpy little sucker! You're brilliant! ...the british are GAY i see a large, pulsating lump with blue stripes on it. ooh, baby! slosh that gunk! no hehehe :) who's that gorgeous babe? cum cum cum cum cum Cleaning this stuff up is someone else's business! hey, it wasn't ME ;) slosh that GUNK! touch my face. YO CUMMASTER. GAAAAAAY

[mothmanperson]

dead dove: do not eat, dark content be warned

Many many years ago, in the far, far lands of the scalding sands there lived a wealthy family. they appeared to be a normal family with many children to carry on the legacy of fame and wealth.

though many secrets were hidden behind a magic curtain of lies and deception. the father was a rather powerful sorcerer, and thus reigned over his family with an iron fist.

married to a woman he didn't love and having children all for the sake of having a fitting heir to his prowess, he truly hated his family.

his children had been cursed to keep their mouth shut about his abilities, a curse mark branded to the back of their throat, they shall never drop a word about anything that happened behind the closed curtains of their mansion.

all the children where raised to utmost obedience, and disobedience was treated harshly. it was more of a prison than a home.

the children had curse marks around their wrist like a beautiful looking bracelet tattoo, keeping them locked in the dull house of horrors as some liked to call.

the mother spent her days locked away in the shared bedroom, she was sick.

(she was not)

the father has not been as harsh as other times the last few days, he had received some joyful news from servant who were sent out looking for something.

and they came back with results.

(they better, or there'd be less servants the next day)

one day, the children had all been called forth, kneeling, pristine and without flaw, before the father, in his hand a simple oil lamp. a common household thing for richer people like them.

(him)

without another word he called your name, you shall step forth.

with little to no hesitation you did, sweat running down the side of your face.

you had no idea if he was pleased or if he wasn't. you had no idea if you were about to be punished or praised. you had no idea what was going on in his head and you couldn't read his face.

and that bothered you.

you wanted him to be proud of you, to rub it into your siblings faces that you did something right for once in your life.

you wanted to fulfil his every wish so that he only had you to praise.

(how selfish)

oh how fate took your plea the wrong way.

speaking with words you did not understand the lamp began to glow on one side, a rune or sigil. you didn't regonize it.

he pressed his long, boney

(disgusting, hurtful, scratchy, rough-)

fingers against the round mark and it copied in a strange orange light onto his fingers as he beckoned you forward.

when you were at his side he spoke of more unknown things and abruptly took both of your hands in his.

with sudden force, something seemed to be forced into your hands, you could not see what it was.

(you later learned it was the responsibility of a life imprisoned in eternity)

blood pooled in your hands, running down the length of your arms and dripping down to the floor, the sweet addicting stench of rotting flesh filling the air, as your once vermillion colored blood turned a sickly greenish black.

soon enough the same color replaced your tears and came flooding out of your nose, mouth and ears.

it burned away at your flesh and muscle and you could feel the strangely familiar feeling of something being scratched into your bones.

heavy silver bracelets, covering the black curse marks, courtesy of your father, encased your wrist and ankles, thick blackish chains connection them to the tiny hole of the lamp neck.

during the whole ordeal you felt as if on fire, yet so cold you could see your fingers blackening by second.

(black magic cursing through your veins is what you saw, staining your fingertips in a cruel fate)

yet you did not scream.

(your father hated that noise)

your siblings watched in horror as a sudden force, one of endless powerful magic, began to drag you into the lamp, the cracks of your bones causing some to cringe or even throw up.

the more the lamp sucked you in, the more delicate lines grew out of the sigil.

but your father seemed to have underestimated the impact of creating a powerful being such as a genie, and just as the lid closed shut, a massive amount excess energy shot out from the lamp and eradicated the small town with everything that its worth, killing more than 2000 people in under a second, with them the father, the mother and the chilren.

nothing was left but sand dunes and stone, nothing the tell the story of the once wealthy family. nothing but an inconspicuous lamp with strange sigils.

the father wanted power and wealth, the child wanted nothing more to be seen. and for a second both had what they wanted.

now the father had nothing and the child was forgotten, as with time less and less grave robbers and adventurers visited the ruines of the village, everything robbed and no stone left atop one another.

but none seemed to find the lamp.

and over time more sand covered the tragedy, and nobody shall no what happened.

(the father's curse seemed to be still working)

until many thousands of years later two friends stumbled upon a strange place, they shall find an old rusted oil lamp.

they took it with them, spending some time trying to uncover its secrets and the meaning behind the lines and engravings only to forget about it again and move one.

as a new section of their life started, both moves into a school that sorted out the gifted from the ones that are not.

and one of the boys seemed to have packed a lamp he had forgotten about.

(backstory yay, also plus boy by gigaP started playing when i wrote this so hope you enjoyed)

[hedgiwithapen]

MAWS prompt: Waller and the General kidnap Clark early in the season, before he's told anyone about his powers. Jimmy has to decide whether to tell Lois Clark's secret, and they have to figure out who could have taken him...

(I'm playing fast and loose with the timeline here. episode 4/5 but Lois never finds the article, Steve never left the weights, etc)

Flip peddled hard, panting.  She twisted the gearshift on her handlebar that was slightly too big for her hands. The 21 speed bike was a great investment, just like she'd told her mom. Usually, it was just so she could get her paper route done and still have time for both cartoons AND homework after school. This was a far bigger deal.  Without the bike, there'd have been no way she was getting up the hill. At least the way down was fast. she didn't even touch the brakes, screeching a warning as she flew past a stop sign. It was illegal, but this was way too important. 

"Lois! Lois!" she shrieked, pulling up to the sidewalk beside a familiar green-coat. One foot bracing her bike, she leaned her head on her handlebars, exhausted. "emergency!"

"Flip, forgetting your book report until last minute is not an emergency," Lois said.

"Not that--how'd you even remember that--wait, no, not the time." Flip gasped for breath. "Superman. they took him!"

"What?" Lois turned fully, eyes wide. Crouching partway, she grabbed the 4th grader's shoulders.  "Flip, what did you see? Tell me everything. Who took Superman?"

"Some guy with white hair. He had a sword, two swords, and, and he was doing flips, and there was a helicopter thing. He looked like a spy. or an assassin. A Spyssassin. Superman was fighting them, but they got really close to the freeway, and he was trying stop it from collapsing and people jumped out of the helicopter, and they took him!"

"Oh my god," Lois said. "Wait, Flip, did they see you?"

"No, I was hiding. We gotta find him! Lois, they had guns!"

"Flip, you  need to go home. I'll get Clark and Jimmy, we'll figure it out, okay?" Screw that she was just an intern--she was her father's daughter, too. Superman had saved their lives, they'd save him back. Somehow.

"I want to help!"

"You have. Flip, please. Go. Normally. Pretend everything's fine."

"But it's not fine!"

Lois nodded.  Impulsively, she hugged the kid. "Stay safe, ok?"

Then she took off running. 

*

Jimmy looked at the pieces of the alarm clock, and signed. This one was not going to be so easily fixed. Usually they broke in about the same way, and being more mechanical than digital, it wasn't that hard to replace a gear, or hammer out a dent. He'd actually gotten pretty good at it, thanks in no small part to Mr. Gotamco at the watch repair place down the street.  Honestly, if the whole photojornalist thing didn't work out, maybe that wouldn't be a half bad career.  His phone rang.

"It's Jimmy," he said, answering. 

"Oh, good," Lois sounded breathless. "Is Clark with you? He's not answering his phone. I'm on my way over right now."

"Why?" Jimmy asked. " It's our day off, isn't it? Did we have a meeting? Did I forget a--"

"No, no. Jimmy, focus. Clark."

"Uh, he went out to get lunch..." Jimmy looked at the clock and realized it was still broken. "Oooh, did he finally ask you out?"

"No! What? Open your door." Jimmy obliged, and Lois  slammed past him, red-faced from running. "It's about Superman."

"Yeah?" Jimmy asked, sweeping the clock parts to the side. He was going to have to buy a new one after all. "something I should put on Flamebird?"

"Yes, no, I don't know--where's Clark? We need him. Superman's gone."

"Gone?" Jimmy choked, putting down his phone. "What do you mean, gone?"

"Gone. Flip saw that guy from the city square take him. He could be hurt, or--we owe him, Jimmy. Say you'll help me."

Jimmy froze. Gone. Superman couldn't be...kidnapped... "Lois." He said, suddenly very quiet. "I need you to promise me you won't get mad."

"About what, Jimmy? Now is not the time for--"

"Promise," he said again. "You can't be mad."

"What did you do!?"

"Nothing. I--nothing. I just... know something. Something I'm not supposed to. And I shouldn't tell you but you have to know now so promise you won't be mad."

"Ok, I promise," she said too easily. Jimmy let it slide.

"Clark. He's Superman. I figured it out ages ago. Not that he was Superman, just that he was... you know. Different. but it's his secret and obviously he didn't want us to know but--if he's--"

"Clark?" Lois said, sitting hard on the couch. "Clark's... all this time, he's been...hiding--"

"You promised not to be mad," Jimmy said. "At either of us." She had not but it was implied.

"Oh, I'm mad," Lois said. "I'm mad at that... that..." she couldn't find the insult she wanted. "Asshole who took our best friend!"

Jimmy'd take what he could get. Clark couldn't be mad, either, right? Not if they were saving him.... Secret Identities were important, privacy mattered, but not when it was life or death. Jimmy really, really hoped that it was not life or death. 

"What's the plan?" he asked, jamming his shoes on. Lois deflated. "I don't know.  Look for clues, Flip said it was by the freeway. We could find something there, maybe?"

"Then let's go." Jimmy wasn't sure how they'd save Clark, after they found him. They had to find him. 

*

It wasn't hard to find the battlesite.  There were cracks in the support pillars of the overpass, all of them minor, or already sealed over.  patches of grass were charred or flattened.  Lois scoured the ground while Jimmy took photos of everything, hoping some clue might stand out. 

"I found something," Lois said.

"is it a clue? is it blood?" Jimmy asked, hurrying over and stopping at Lois's outflung arm. 

"Bootprints," Lois said. "I've seen prints like these before." Her voice was suddenly very un-Lois-like. Quiet. almost defeated. 

"In the tunnel, at the salvage yard?" Jimmy asked, squinting at the tracks. Maybe it was all connected to that tech. If it was, there had to be a way to trace it, they could find something that would lead them to Clark. Or Clark could get away on his own, maybe--he'd won the fight in the square before. Once he was in a place where innocents wouldn't get hurt, he'd have no problem kicking that guy's ass. "Or... the bank robbery?"

"No," Lois said, looking at her phone. The missed call log. Over and over, the declined calls. 

"Where, then?" Jimmy asked, staring at her, his camera lowered. "Lois?"

"My shoe rack, back home.  Standard issue. US Military. I...I have to call someone."

Her thumb hovered over the contact for 'dad' before pressing down with enough force to almost crack the screen. 

It rang, and rang, and went to voicemail. 

[trinity-mia]

a story as endless as the ocean

the lightning thief

1.1 the enemy of my father is... also my enemy (allegedly)

warnings : cussing, monster attack (hey, there's a lot of those), allie doing something that will probably anger the gods (shocking, ik)

word count : 4.8k

1.1 Garden Gnomes are FREAKY and Anyone Who Says Otherwise is a LIAR

In some ways, it's nice to know there are Greek gods out there. 

Mostly because you have somebody to blame when things go wrong. 

For instance, when you're walking away from a bus that's just been attacked by monster hags and blown up by lightning, and it's raining on top of everything else, most people might think that's just really bad luck. When you're a half-blood, you understand that it's just some divine force that is really trying to fuck up your day and at the very least if it doesn't make you happier, it'll give you peace of mind because you're given a reason. 

So there we were, Luke, Grover, and I, walking through the woods along the New Jersey riverbank, the glow of New York City making the night sky yellow behind us, and the smell of the Hudson reeking in our noses.

Grover was shivering and braying, his big goat eyes turned slit-pupiled and full of terror. "Three Kindly Ones. All three at once."

I was pretty much in shock, myself. The explosion of bus windows still rang in my ears. But Luke kept pulling us along, saying: "Come on! The farther away we get, the better."

"Do you think anyone was hurt?" I worried. "What if someone got hurt?"

"Allie, Sweetheart, I get why you're upset," Luke said tensely, continuing to tug me through the trees. "But we need to focus on getting away from there. We have to keep ourselves safe first."

I bit my lip but nodded. He flashed me that smile that I really hated, the tender one that made my ears heat up even more than the infuriating, but somehow still charming, playboy one did.

"It was really brave, coming back to help us," he told me, releasing my wrist to wrap his arm around my shoulders. "You're doing all you can, I know, but focus on your safety before the others. You come first."

I gave him a weak smile in reply. "Yeah, well, you come first, too. Imagine what'd happen if the Stolls were left in charge of Cabin 11," I tried to joke. "There'd be nothing left."

He snorted and nodded, giving me a squeeze. The thunderstorm finally began to let up, and I sighed in relief, adjusting my backpack.

"Good call, getting us to keep our bags with us," I said tiredly to him. "We'd've been in trouble otherwise."

"Yeah, well. Been there, done that," he grimaced. My eyes flickered to the scar on his face.

"When you went on your quest?"

He stiffened slightly and I immediately regretted asking.

"No, no, no, no, no, no. You don't have to—" I began but he cut me off with a mild head shake.

"No, actually. When Thalia, Annabeth and I were on the run, we didn't have a lot. Thank the gods I'm a natural thief, or we'd have starved long before the monsters got to us."

I didn't reply, simply nodding. He looked glad that I hadn't said anything, so I made it my job to keep my mouth shut for a while.

"Hey, my reed pipes still work!" Grover cried. "If I could just remember a 'find path' song, we could get out of these woods!"

He puffed out a few notes, but the tune still sounded suspiciously like Hilary Duff.

Instead of finding a path, I came close to slamming into a tree and getting a nice-size knot on my head.

"Sorry!" Grover yelped as I turned my death glare on him.

"I think you're trying to get Luke killed. I think busting my head open on a tree would classify as 'me getting hurt while on this quest,' especially to Clarisse," I said, trying to lessen some of the tension that had settled over the three of us. Thankfully, it worked and we were able to laugh even with all of the awful shit going on. 

"When we stop for the night we need to talk about something the Kindly Ones said back there," Luke told me after a few seconds. I frowned, but nodded. I had been a bit too busy fighting to pay attention to their shrieking. I was kind of impressed he'd been able to figure out what they'd been saying, their voices were so shrill.

After tripping and cursing and generally feeling miserable for another mile or so, I started to see light up ahead: the colors of a neon sign. I could smell food. Fried, greasy, excellent food. I realized suddenly that I was starving. I didn't know why, considering Katie, Silena, Nessa, and Clarisse had forced me to eat breakfast, so I knew I shouldn't be that hungry. The more I thought about it, the more the feeling went away.

Either way, we kept walking until I saw a deserted two-lane road through the trees. On the other side was a closed-down gas station, a tattered billboard for a '90s movie, and one open business, which was the source of the neon light and the good smell.

It wasn't a fast-food restaurant like I was thinking. It was one of those weird roadside curio shops that sell lawn flamingos and wooden Indians and cement grizzly bears and random stuff like that. The main building was a long, low warehouse, surrounded by acres of statuary. The neon sign above the gate was almost impossible for me to read, because if there's anything worse for my dyslexia than regular English, it's red cursive neon English. I knew if I sat down and stared at it for a while I'd figure it out, but we didn't have that extra time.

To me, it looked like: ATNYU MES GDERAN GOMEN MEPROUIM.

"What the hell does that say?" I asked.

"Don't ask me," Luke shrugged. He cocked his head to the side and squinted, like that would somehow help him make out the cursive.

Grover translated: "Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium."

Flanking the entrance, as advertised, were two cement garden gnomes, ugly, freaky, bearded little runts, smiling and waving, as if they were about to get their picture taken.

I crossed the street, following the smell of the hamburgers. Even if the feeling of hunger had mostly gone away, we could still stock up for later.

"Hey..." Grover warned.

"The lights are on inside," Luke pointed out. "Maybe it's open."

"Snack bar. We can stock up on food for later," I said.

"Snack bar," he wistfully agreed.

"Are you two crazy?" Grover said. "This place is weird."

We ignored him.

The front lot was a forest of statues: cement animals, cement children, even a cement satyr playing the pipes, which gave Grover the creeps.

"Bla-ha-ha!" he bleated. "Looks like my Uncle Ferdinand!"

We stopped at the warehouse door.

"Don't knock," Grover pleaded. "I smell monsters."

"Your nose is clogged up from the Furies," Luke dismissed him. "All I smell is burgers. Aren't you hungry?"

"Meat!" he said scornfully. "I'm a vegetarian."

Luke ignored that. 

Then the door creaked open, and standing in front of us was a tall Middle Eastern woman— at least, I assumed she was Middle Eastern, because she wore a long black gown that covered everything but her hands, and her head was completely veiled. Her eyes glinted behind a curtain of black gauze, but that was about all I could make out. Her coffee-colored hands looked old, but well-manicured and elegant, so I imagined she was a grandmother who had once been a beautiful lady.

Her accent sounded vaguely Middle Eastern, too. She said, "Children, it is too late to be out all alone. Where are your parents?"

"They're... um..." I started to say.

"We got separated," Luke lied smoothly. "Our bus caught on fire a few miles back. We panicked and ran, but we got lost in the forest. We smelt your food and were hoping we'd found a Burger King or something."

"Oh, my dears," the woman said. "You must come in, poor children. I am Aunty Em. Go straight through to the back of the warehouse, please. There is a dining area."

We thanked her and went inside.

"Good cover," I whispered to Luke. 

He flashed me a smug grin. "I know," he muttered back. "I'm a genius. Oscar-worthy. You have a few don't you? But please, no autographs."

I scoffed and hit him on the arm. "You're such an ass... but yes, if you must know, I have four. And all of the others— by, like, over 20 years, I'm the youngest person to ever achieve EGOT status," I informed him as we entered the room.

"Wait, you're right, I should be the one asking you that. Then I could sell it on eBay and get a shitton of mon—" My glare cut him off. "Never mind."

The warehouse was filled with more statues— people in all different poses, wearing all different outfits and with different expressions on their faces. I was thinking you'd have to have a pretty huge garden to fit even one of these statues, because they were all life-size. 

Go ahead, call me an idiot for being impulsive. Sue me. But, you've never smelled Aunty Em's burgers. The aroma was like laughing gas or something— it made everything else go away. I did, however, notice Grover's nervous whimpers, and the way the statues' eyes seemed to follow me, but I didn't notice the fact that Aunty Em had locked the door behind us.

And sure enough, there it was at the back of the warehouse, a fast-food counter with a grill, a soda fountain, a pretzel heater, and a nacho cheese dispenser. Everything you could want, plus a few steel picnic tables out front. Luke groaned at the sight. Grover shifted anxiously behind us.

"Please, sit down," Aunty Em said.

"Thank you for your hospitality," I said, taking the polite route, one that wasn't used very often.

"Um," Grover said reluctantly, "We don't have any money, ma'am."

Before I could interject and pull out my credit card, Aunty Em said, "No, no, children. No money. This is a special case, yes? It is my treat, for such nice children who have been through such a terrifying day."

"Thank you, ma'am," Luke said with a charming grin on his face. 

She waved him off. "Quite alright, Luke," she replied, before she disappeared behind the snack counter and started cooking. My head shot up to look at her, but she wouldn't look back at me. Though, there was a weird... strain about it. Like she had to force herself to keep from looking at me.

Before we knew it, she'd brought us plastic trays heaped with double cheeseburgers, milkshakes, and XXL servings of French fries. 

I only ate a few fries before packing up the rest. If Aunty M found this at all weird or concerning, she didn't say it. Luke was very passionate about his burger and I don't think he remembered to breathe until halfway through.

I sipped at the chocolate shake Aunty Em had given me.

Grover picked at the fries, like I had, and eyed the tray's waxed paper liner as if he might go for that, but he still looked too nervous to eat.

"What's that hissing noise?" he asked.

I listened, but didn't hear anything. Luke shook his head.

"Hissing?" Aunty Em asked. "Perhaps you hear the deep-fryer oil. You have keen ears, Grover."

"I take vitamins. For my ears."

"That's admirable," she said. "But please, relax."

She'd said Grover's name, too, I realized. Had we said our names when we walked in? I couldn't remember for sure.

Aunty Em ate nothing. She hadn't taken off her headdress, even to cook, and now she sat forward and interlaced her fingers and watched us eat. It was a little unsettling, but since I didn't eat much it didn't make me feel as weirded out as I would've been. 

"So, you sell gnomes," I said, trying to sound interested instead of uncomfortable. I was starting to get a weird vibe, or at least a vibe that started a while ago, but was only intensifying. If I could get some information out of her I might feel less... on edge.

"Oh, yes," Aunty Em nodded. "And animals. And people. Anything for the garden. Custom orders. Statuary is very popular, you know."

"You get a lot of business on this road?" I didn't mean for it to come out rude, but even to me, it sounded bratty. 

"Not so much, no. Since the highway was built... most cars, they do not go this way now. I must cherish every customer I get."

My neck tingled, as if somebody else was looking at me. I turned, but it was just a statue of a young girl holding an Easter basket. The detail was incredible, much better than you see in most garden statues. But something was wrong with her face. It looked as if she were startled, or even terrified.

"Ah," Aunty Em said sadly. "You notice some of my creations do not turn out well. They are marred. They do not sell. The face is the hardest to get right. Always the face."

"You make these statues yourself?" I asked. 

I swear to the gods...

"Oh, yes. Once upon a time, I had two sisters to help me in the business, but they have passed on, and Aunty Em is alone. I have only my statues. This is why I make them, you see. They are my company." 

The sadness in her voice was convincing, but not to the girl who'd been an actress all her life. It was real, but not 'oh my sisters are gone' sadness, more a 'feel sympathy for me you naive children' sadness. 

... If you are who I think you are...

Even Luke had stopped eating. I sat forward and asked, "Two sisters?"

"It's a terrible story," Aunty Em said. "Not one for children, really. You see, Allie, a bad woman was jealous of me, long ago, when I was young. I had a... a boyfriend, you know, and this bad woman was determined to break us apart. She caused a terrible accident. My sisters stayed by me. They shared my bad fortune as long as they could, but eventually, they passed on. They faded away. I alone have survived, but at a price. Such a price."

... You trick ass bitch. 

"Luke? Maybe we should go," I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. I had to shake him in order to get his attention. "Our parents are probably looking for us."

He looked at me confused, while Grover started to chew on the wax paper. I could hear my own heart beating. 

"You look so, so like my beloved," she whispered, reaching out to stroke my cheek. I flinched away before she could. She didn't seem offended, for some reason. "Cut some of that pretty hair, bulk up or just make yourself less petite and womanly and you'd look exactly like him..."

"We really should go!" I stood abruptly, trying to drag Luke along with me. 

"Yes!" Grover swallowed his waxed paper and stood up. "Our parents are waiting! Right!"

But Luke didn't want to get up. He even tried pulling me back to my seat, but I kept my feet planted. 

"Please, dears," Aunty Em pleaded. "I so rarely get to be with children. Before you go, won't you at least sit for a pose?"

"A pose?" I asked warily.

"A photograph. I will use it to model a new statue set. Children are so popular, you see. Everyone loves children."

I shifted my weight from foot to foot. I didn't want to go, but I felt like it was the only option. Luke wouldn't go with us, whatever she put in the food she gave us was obviously working. "I don't think we can, ma'am. Come on, Luke—"

"Of course we'll stay," Luke agreed. I don't think he even realized he'd spoken until the words were out of his mouth. He was snapping out of it. That was good. "It's just a photo, Allie. What's the harm? You're a model. Don't you take, like, hundreds every day?"

"Yes, Allie," the woman purred. "No harm."

I didn't like it, but I let myself get dragged to the back. Again, call me stupid all you want, I deserve it. But I thought there might be another exit back there or maybe we could find another way to escape before she turned us to stone.

Oh yeah, for those of you who haven't quite caught up with your Greek Mythology, this is Medusa. Get it? Aunty Em— Aunty 'M.'

She directed us to a park bench next to the stone satyr. "Now," she said, "I'll just position you correctly. The young lady in the middle, I think, and the two young gentlemen on either side."

"Not much light for a photo," Luke remarked. I was trying to telepathically speak to him, since now he was starting to see something about this was wrong. SOS! We need to get the hell out of dodge! Now!

"Oh, enough," Aunty Em said. "Enough for us to see each other, yes?"

"Where's your camera?" Grover asked.

Medusa stepped back, as if to admire the shot. "Now, the face is the most difficult. Can you smile for me please, everyone? A large smile?"

Grover glanced at the cement satyr next to him, and mumbled, "That sure does look like Uncle Ferdinand."

"Grover," she chastised, "look this way, dear." She still had no camera in her hands.

"Luke—" I said.

"You know ma'am, Allie and Grover are right," Luke suddenly said. "We really should be going. Our parents must be frantic by now, after all."

"I will just be a moment," Medusa said. "You know, I can't see you very well in this cursed veil..."

"Oh, I really think we should go." I began to stand up.

"Why?" She said, reaching up to undo the wrap around her head. "Don't leave yet, dear. I have such noble company tonight. What could be wrong?"

"That is Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover gasped.

"Look away from her!" I shouted. I managed to slip Annabeth's Yankees cap out of Luke's back pocket and onto his head and then I pushed them both to the sides. I heard one of Grover's hooves against the ground, so one of his shoes had to have fallen off, but I couldn't see Luke, so I'd succeeded in helping them.

Now I had the problem of getting myself out of trouble. Which was now very bad, considering she had no veil on and was right in front of me. I kept my eyes glued to my shoes. 

Her gnarled hands grabbed me, giving me no choice but to stay there and not look at her face. She started rocking me back and forth, like a mother trying to console their child, but her grip was strong and her nails were digging into my arms.

"I didn't tell the whole of my story, dear Astraea," she said 'dear' with so much loathing I almost recoiled in fear. "You see, after I was cursed by Athena, I expected my lover to stand by me. To help me and my sisters, who had done nothing wrong. After all, I was in her temple on his request, and I was pregnant with his children. But he didn't help us," her voice grew dark.

"That's not my fault," I cried, voice strained and tears pricking at my eyes, but she only continued. 

"Instead, he abandoned us to our fate, uncaring of our suffering. And we were attacked by heroes," she spat the word contemptuously. "Who sought to eliminate the monsters. My sisters were killed, as they did not share my power to turn people to stone and so could not defend themselves, and I was left alone with nothing but my statues until the accursed Perseus killed me. It's all your father's fault! He and Athena! But I cannot get revenge on him, so I will settle for—"

Think of the most impulsive thing you've ever seen someone do. Now take that and multiply it by like... I don't know... 50? They still wouldn't come close to the level of impulsiveness I had acted on. 

She'd let go of one of my arms to caress my face. I don't know who gave me the thought process I had in order for me to do it, but I did it. And it was pretty badass if I do say so myself. 

Just before she touched my face, I closed my eyes shut and kicked my leg out which just enough force to knock her to the ground. She let go of me and I ran. My first thought was to find Luke, get Grover, and book it out of there, but then Luke found me first. Medusa let out a cry of outrage at the same time I almost screamed a lung out of my body. 

Still invisible, Luke had grabbed me and pulled me behind a few stone statues, pressing me up against the wall and putting his hand over my mouth to keep the scream contained. As soon as we were out of her line of sight, Luke took the cap off and let me go. 

"You have to cut her head off."

"What? Why can't we just get the hell out of here?"

"Medusa is a menace. She's evil. We can't let her continue to live, turning innocent people into stone for her own amusement. I'd kill her myself, but you have the better weapon. Weapons."

I bit my lip but nodded in acceptance. Luke was right. If we didn't stop Medusa, she'd just keep killing people. My heart clenched as I glanced at a body (I couldn't think of them as statues anymore. It seemed too disrespectful to her victims). It was a young girl scout with her mother. The little girl was missing one of her front teeth.

"Okay," I agreed, voice barely a whimper. "But how will I see her? None of us have shields."

Luke grabbed a green gazing ball from a nearby pedestal. "Use this," he ordered me. "It's not as good as a polished shield, but it'll do."

"You know!" Medusa screamed out in her rage as she finally got up. "I'd hate destroying a pretty face like your's, Allie, but what better way to get revenge? I turn you to stone and destroy your statue. Kill daddy's little princess twice over. A pretty face for a pretty face! How does that sound?"

Then Grover also took a slice of the impulsive cake. 

There was a wild battle cry and I glanced at another of the reflective sphere things. The sight shocked me. Grover, holding a tree branch the size of a baseball bat, was racing for Medusa. His eyes were shut tight, his head twitched from side to side. He was navigating by his ears and nose alone.

"I'll get her!" He yelled. I let out a moan of horror, making to run and join the fight. Knowing Grover, I was sure he'd miss Medusa and knock himself out.

Thwack!

At first I figured it was the sound of Grover hitting a tree. Then Medusa roared with rage.

"You miserable satyr," she snarled. "I'll add you to my collection!"

"That was for Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover yelled back.

I scrambled away and hid behind another person to peek carefully at the scene while Grover ran in for another pass.

Ker-whack!

"Go, Grover," I muttered.

"Arrgh!" Medusa yelled, her snake-hair hissing and spitting.

"Hey, guys!" Grover yelled somewhere near us. "I think she's unconscious!"

"Roooaaarrr!"

"Maybe not," Grover corrected. He went in for another pass with the tree branch.

I pressed the diamond of my necklace and turned it into Riptide. Thank the gods it didn't make a noise, otherwise, I'd have been pretty screwed. 

Then I followed the hissing and spitting sounds of Medusa's hair. I kept my eyes locked on the gazing ball so I could only glimpse Medusa's reflection, not the real thing. Then, in the green-tinted glass, I saw her.

Grover was coming in for another turn at bat, but this time he swung a little too low. Medusa grabbed the stick and threw him roughly away from her with unnatural strength. He tumbled through the air and crashed into the arms of a stone grizzly bear with a painful "Ummphh!"

Medusa was about to lunge at him when I yelled a panicked, "Hey!"

I advanced on her, which wasn't easy, holding a sword and a glass ball. If she charged, I'd have a hard time defending myself. But she let me approach— twenty feet, ten feet.

"You wouldn't harm an old woman, Allie," she crooned. "I know you wouldn't. What would Mommy think of such behavior?"

I hesitated, fascinated by the face I saw reflected in the glass— the eyes that seemed to burn straight through the green tint, making my arms go weak. But then I got an idea. Let her think she has the upper hand.

From the cement grizzly, Grover moaned, "Allie, don't listen to her!"

Medusa cackled. "Too late."

She lunged at me with her talons. I slashed up with my sword, heard a sickening shlock! then a hiss like wind rushing out of a cavern— the sound of a monster disintegrating. Something fell to the ground next to my foot. I jumped away, just in time to keep my shoes from getting permanently destroyed. 

"Oh, yuck," Grover said. His eyes were still tightly closed, but I guess he could hear the thing gurgling and steaming. "Mega-yuck."

Luke came up next to me, his eyes fixed on the sky. He was holding Medusa's black veil. "Don't move," he instructed me.

"I know."

Very, very carefully, without looking down, he knelt and draped the monster's head in black cloth, then picked it up. It was still dripping green juice.

"I knew you could do it," he grinned at me. "I trained you after all." 

I scoffed. "Oh, please. That was pure, natural talent. You trained me for a few days. You don't get the credit." I glanced at the covered head with a grimace. I felt queasy looking at it. "Why didn't the head evaporate?"

"Once you sever it, it becomes a spoil of war," he explained. "Same as your Minotaur horn. But don't unwrap the head. It can still petrify you."

"Right," I breathed. Grover trotted up to us, a large red knot forming in the middle of his forehead. "Good work, G," I told him appreciatively. "You were definitely more useful than that one over there." I jerked my thumb at Luke, who gave me a look of mocking offense.

"That hurts Angel, it really does," he pouted jokingly. "Here I was trying to give you some real-life experience, and you mock me." He shook his head sadly and I chuckled.

"That really was not fun, though," Grover announced. "Well, the hitting-her-with-a-stick part, that was fun. But crashing into a concrete bear? Not fun."

"You didn't enjoy crashing into solid stone?" I deadpanned. "Shocking. What do we do with the head?"

"Let me check the office," Luke decided. "See if I find some inspiration." I sat down tiredly, letting him go and search. He came out a few minutes later, with two more paper bags, a box, some tape, extra drachmas and, best of all, a slip of paper with an address on it in Ancient Greek. DOA Recording Studios, West Hollywood, California. The Underworld's billing address.

"Awesome," I breathed, taking it from him. "Luke, I could literally kiss you right now."

He brightened, suddenly in my personal space. "I'll take you up on that," he declared.

My eyes narrowed before I grabbed his collar and pulled him down to my level. Then I briefly skimmed my lips across his cheek. Grover choked in the background as I pulled back before Luke managed to do anything.

"Never let it be said that I don't do what I say," I whispered in his ear before stepping away and starting to wrap the head up more securely. Luke gaped at me, looking bewildered as I taped the box shut, head double-wrapped inside.

Then I scribbled on the top of it. 

Now, remember earlier when I said I did the most impulsive thing anyone's ever done? Yeah, that situation's about to happen again.

But I was mad and furious at being called a thief and this experience did not make me feel much better. 

Lord Zeus,

Mount Olympus,

600th Floor,

Empire State Building,

New York, NY,

With best wishes,

Astraea Jackson

P.S. I was in Philly while your bolt was getting stolen. Lucky for you, I'm a nice person and am willing to find it and return it to you. 

If you could kindly hop off my ass, that'd be great. Have a nice day :)

"He's not going to like that," Grover warned. "He'll think you're impertinent."

I poured some golden drachmas in the pouch. As soon as I closed it, there was a sound like a cash register. The package floated off the table and disappeared with a pop!

"Yeah, well, I am impertinent," I told them both, crossing my arms over my chest. Luke was still gaping at me, but now it was because of two impulsive things I'd done. "Come on," I ordered. "We need a new plan."

*    *    *

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[insomniac-jay]

Affluenza [RadiJewel]

Keizo Hoshokura has played the game of love and always won, but today he gets a hard lesson in humility from his newest target.

Relationship(s): Keizo Hoshokura | Radiator x Shiho Hoshokura | Queen Jewel

Warning(s): Swearing

Misc: Shiho said no more trying to fix men let the men fix themselves, dedicated to @floof-ghostie aka the ultimate RadiJewel shipper

Keizo Hoshokura, handsome and arrogant, walked into the gates of Kando like the gods had gifted him to them. His presence immediately caught the attention of the women-- who wouldn't be charmed by him? With his chestnut brown hair, eyes gold like sun rays, and a smile that'd make even goddesses blush, many women found themselves flocking to him.

And Keizo liked that.

Over the years he gained a reputation for being a heartbreaker. He'd be with a girl one day and another one the next. He wasn't too worried about it, of course. There'd always be plenty of women ready and willing to be at his side even for a second.

But most of the ladies here weren't whom he had his sights on.

Shiho Takarano prided herself on being headstrong and opinionated. Society, especially the type she and her sister Kimi came from, didn't take too kindly to a woman having those traits-- but nevertheless she persisted. Many people tried to silence her but never succeeded.

Her head and mind were currently in her book, providing her a nice escape from the hustle and bustle of the upcoming entrance exams.

A coy smile crossed Keizo's lips when he spotted her. It wasn't hard to lose someone like Shiho in a crowd because of how foreign her appearance was. With deep brown skin and velvet brown hair accented with a white streak styled in an afro.

Still with his smile, Keizo made his move. "My oh my, look at who we have here."

Shiho didn't deter from her reading as a man approached her. In fact, the interruption only drew her further into the story.

Keizo hummed. "Purple is a stunning color for you. It really brings out your eyes."

Shiho simply hummed, never looking up from her book. Keizo took a moment to point out the book, Mules and Men.

"A bookworm, I see. I may not be a literary giant, but I know a masterpiece when I see one." Keizo winked at her.

"Shiho."

Shiho finally looked away from her book not at Keizo, but at her approaching sister Kimi. The two looked almost alike except Kimi had their mother's soft eyes while Shiho had what her family called "the angered god stare" from their father.

"Let's hurry. The exam is about to begin." Kimi locked arms with Shiho then made tracks for the auditorium. Along the way, she felt the need to question her sister on what Keizo was doing there.

"It seems like you've gained Hoshokura's attention."

"Don't remind me. I have no business associating with someone like him, especially since he sees me as some easy target." Shiho rolled her eyes at all those things Keizo said to her. Romance wasn't something she sought out, instead focusing on her goals and personal life. If given the choice, she'd run away to a monastery and become a nun instead of tying herself down to a man.

Once the entrance exams were over, Shiho looked for a quiet spot to continue reading. But before she could find one, an all too familiar voice filled her ears.

"Nice work out there, Golden Globe."

Shiho slightly twitched at the nickname. Was Keizo trying to make her punch him in the face? "Please call me Takarano and Takarano only."

"Don't be like that, princess." Keizo strode over to her. He could definitely see some of his future classmates turn green with envy as he approached Shiho. "You're always so tense, harsh, cold. Isn't it time you loosen up? Especially to love?"

Shiho scoffed. "I'm more than happy being single at the moment."

"Your mouth says one thing, but your heart is telling me another." Keizo raised his hand to cup Shiho's chin, only for it to be slapped away by her hand. Keizo could feel a small sting in his heart.

"I know who you are, Hoshokura. I've heard everything there is to know about you," Shiho began. "But I doubt you know me; so allow me to introduce myself: I am Shiho Takarano. Not 'Golden Globe' and certainly not an easy lay for you. And you, sir, are one of the most audacious men I've ever seen."

Before Keizo could say anything, Shiho silenced him with another harsh statement.

"I'm not someone who is effortlessly flattered by flowery words and sculpted features. Why do you think I've never had a suitor in my life? And if you thought you were any different, my apologies that you're not."

"So what are you saying?" Keizo asked.

"I'm saying no, Hoshokura. No I will not go out with you. No I will not be your girlfriend. And no I do not want to be associated, let alone in the vicinity, with you. Now get out my face."

Keizo's eyes widened in shock as she walked away. He'd never been rejected so harshly and publicly before. Was he wrong to underestimate someone like Shiho Takarano? Or was he just so used to winning that he'd never known a challenge? Either way, perhaps this was a lesson he'd needed.