#Cupboard Shutter

[vmsplus]

Benefits Of Investing In A Modular Cupboard In Your Bedroom | VMS Trade Link

If your bedroom cupboard gets cluttered from time to time, it may be because you do not have the right cupboard.

A cupboard may be called a wardrobe or a closet. It is a decorative piece of furniture that can enhance how your bedroom looks, and its primary function is to contain all of your clothing and accessories.

If you’re looking for storage for your clothes and other things, your best option is a modular cupboard in your bedroom. As the name implies, a modular cupboard or wardrobe is a kind of storage unit that can be easily put together or taken apart (when needed).

It is different from the traditional wardrobe or almirah, which is the cabinet you buy readymade; therefore, it may or may not suit your interior design. With a modular wardrobe, you can customise, following your personal style and decor.

There are many different modular wardrobe designs that you can choose from.

For example, there is the sliding wardrobe design. This design has movable doors that glide horizontally along metal channels. These channels are fixed to the bottom and top of the wardrobe. 

This design makes a style statement, given its contemporary, sleek appearance.

This sliding wardrobe door design can save you more space by opening sideways; hence, do not block the space outside the wardrobe door. Besides providing more space for your clothes and belongings, they offer more stability, as they do not need to rely on hinges to hold the doors up.

Another one is the openable shutter wardrobe design, which has become popular because it is a functional and stylish storage solution. This design features one or more doors that, when swung open, reveal the contents of the wardrobe. It provides easy access to your clothes and belongings, adds a touch of style to your bedroom, and is versatile and durable.

What are the benefits of investing in a modular bedroom cupboard?

*  Functionality.  

Modular cupboards provide enough room for easy and convenient clothing and accessories storage.

* Customisation.  

You can customise them to your specific needs, such as shelves, drawers, and hanging spaces. You only need to select the shape, the size, the colour, the finish, and the material to use, and you will have your modular wardrobe.

*  Durability.  

Modular wardrobes are made of high-quality materials and can withstand wear and tear. Materials such as glass, metal and wood are excellent materials that make these wardrobes a fantastic long-term investment.

*Aesthetics.  

Modular cupboards can be made in many different shapes, styles and materials that blend beautifully with your bedroom decor. Whether you want a sleek, contemporary appearance or a rustic, classic appearance, they can be made to fit your preferences.

*  Space saver.  

They provide the additional benefit of being suited to any room, regardless of size. 

Even if you are in a small apartment or house, they can fit because they come in various sizes and can be installed in any size of available space in the bedroom.

*  Flexibility.  

This is one of the key benefits offered by modular cupboards. In contrast to traditional cabinets, almirahs, modular wardrobes will meet your changing needs. Depending on the kind and quantity of clothes and accessories that need to be stored, you can add or remove drawers, shelves, and hanging areas.

Modular wardrobes offer flexible storage options for clothing, shoes, and other things. You need not hunt through cramped drawers and chests to find what you want. 

Modular wardrobes allow you to dress more quickly and efficiently because everything you need is within easy reach in their rightful places. You just pick them up, ready to be worn. So, with a modular cupboard, there is no clutter, no searching everywhere, no detective work, no crumpled clothing.

Call VMS Tradelink if you need help choosing the right modular wardrobe for your bedroom or more information about installing a cupboard. We will be happy to speak to you and discuss how we can help with your project.

[littlebnha]

🐦‍⬛ It was an unintentional discovery. You'd been searching for a snack when you first heard the noise and at first, you thought it had been someone tapping on a table until you remembered that it was the weekend and most of class 1-A were out doing their own thing leaving just a rare few so you ignored it thinking you had simply knocked something down in a cupboard until it happened again this time longer a bit louder and accompanied by chirping? 

you walked out of the kitchen socked feet moving you into the shared area that was not the sound of something glass tipping or a bag of chips shifting. It was unprompted organic made by something living and the strange thing was that you were positive that you had heard it before and as you rounded the couches looking around you heard it again...coming from Tokoyami. 

He was sleeping soundly a pillow tucked under his chin as he lay sprawled on the couch you were sure that the sun had lulled him into an afternoon nap one so good he was chirping in his sleep and the sight was enough to make you want to squeal at how adorable it was though you didn't dare make a sound. However, there was no way you were going to let an opportunity like this pass you by. 

That is why when your stomach dared to betray you by letting out the most embarrassing growl ever heard Tokoyami awoke to see you his classmate (and crush) crouched in front of him with a phone the soft sound of a camera shutters the only other sound in the room. 

"It's not what it looks like."

[annievrse]

bewitched

satoru x reader —ᡣ𐭩 blurb summary: gojo has a camera during the holidays

"smile!" satoru yelled, pointing the purple polaroid camera at megumi, nobara, and maki, who sat on the couch. tinsel and holiday decorations were scattered haphazardly around gojo's apartment, colours clashing and—wait, was that a mochi plush with a santa hat?

"rack off," megumi mumbled, bringing his elbow up to cover his profile after the flash half-blinded him, the two girls next to him laughing. he checked his lap to ensure his hot chocolate hadn't spilt from his quick movement and rolled his eyes when there was a small stain.

"you're washing my uniform, gojo," megumi grumbled, furrowing his eyebrows.

but, all satoru did was giggle and watch the photo slowly emerge from the top of the camera. immediately, he began waving the photo erratically, checking every few seconds to see if the photo had developed.

"gojo!" shoko called from next to you, shaking her head while you covered your mouth with your palm at his impatience. "quit shaking it so hard."

"ugh!" he threw his head back and flopped his arms by his sides. "it takes so long!"

but, satoru's eyes found yours, mischief clouding his vision as he stalked towards you, photo and camera still in his hands.

you plucked the square out of his hand when he stopped in front of you, eyes crinkling at the image. maki and nobara had thrown their arms over each other's shoulders to pose, leaving megumi looking directly at the lens, his eyes wide in shock.

"love this photo, megs," you said. "it's going straight on the fridge."

the girls on the couch cheered while megumi sighed and stood, placing his mug on the table. "i'm going to find yuuji and yuuta."

satoru mimicked him, his hands placed on his hips, and glanced at the younger boy leaving the living room and slinking down the hallway.

"alright!" satoru exclaimed, turning back to you and shoko.

"you," he said, pointing his finger at you. "are coming with me—" he pointed to himself "—to the kitchen so you can show me how you make those incredible drinks."

you rolled your eyes playfully and stood from your spot at the dining table. shoko raised too, bringing her shoulder bag to her front to dig around in it, pulling out a box of cigarettes and a lighter.

"i'm going to the balcony." satoru nodded at shoko's statement and grabbed your hand.

music flowed through the apartment but it was muffled when you entered the kitchen, satoru's hand still wrapped tightly around your own.

placing the camera on the counter, satoru glided around the space, plucking mugs from cupboards and gathering chocolate and milk from their respective places.

"that's everything, right?" he asked, turning back to you, who held the camera in your palms.

your eyes were bright as you stepped closer to him, the camera raised before your lover. "i doubt you've taken any photos of yourself tonight."

satoru gave you a dazed smile and shrugged. "i mean, there may be a secret stash..." he winked, causing an involuntary smile to crack your lips apart.

"you're shameless."

"you say that like you don't know," satoru muttered cheekily, his gaze never wavering from your face.

"say cheese," you teased, ignoring the heat overtaking your body and pressing the shutter button. a sharp click and flash was the only sound before satoru snatched the device from your hands. the undeveloped photo of him hung between his fingers as he removed it and nearly threw it on the bench.

"your turn," his cheeks were pink and the corners of his lips were upturned. the glint in his eye was one you'd seen many times before—the sheer adoration and unprecedented lovestruck glimmer that made your chest hurt.

the external sounds of the apartment dimmed—maki, nobara, and now, toge playing mario kart on the nintendo switch; yuuji, megumi, and yuuta playing dj and laughing down the hallway; and nanami and ijichi conversing on the other couch, away from the students.

it was an almost perfect night, grief and longing for what could have been sat like a stone in many of your friend's stomaches, including your own. yet, it was the happiest you'd all been in a while, nobody causing havoc, nobody threatening the lives of your friends—your family.

you realised too late that you'd been staring at satoru while you got lost in your thoughts, the camera in his grip a reminder that he had taken a photo of you.

though, the polaroid photo that sat idly between his fingers had his full, undivided attention.

you covered your face with your hands, suddenly embarrassed. "don't show me. it's terrible isn't it?"

satoru peered at you through his lashes, his eyes glassy. "you're exquisite," he whispered, taking a step toward you.

to try and calm your racing heart and warming cheeks, you turned to your right to slide the photo of him into your palm. and when you turned it over, you were struck with some sort of realisation.

satoru's azure eyes met yours and he smiled softly, knowing what you were registering too.

"at the same time, okay?" he said, his grin growing with each passing second. you nodded, positioning the photo upside down next to the one he held.

"3, 2, 1." and as the photos flipped, you gasped a laugh.

on the two separate polaroids was each of you, vastly different in looks, standing on different sides of the kitchen. the only feature the same was the position of your eyes—neither looking at the lens but instead at each other behind the camera.

"we're cute, aren't we?" satoru laughs, taking the thin cardboard from you and walking to the fridge to place a sparkly pink heart-shaped magnet over the top of his, and an old homemade magnet of one of megumi's demon dogs over yours.

it'd hit you then, what he meant to you, and he could tell—he always could. taking his place back next to you, satoru's fingers tickled your waist.

and in the midst of a holiday party, you and satoru stood in a kitchen. two hearts that had long fused as one, beat as one in a terrifying world where tomorrow wasn't promised.

and despite the heartfelt and realistic moment, you obviously had to break it.

"honestly," you blurted, nudging his shoulder. "i'm cuter."

"no!" satoru turned to you quickly, his eyes wide. "i'm the cutest! you're the gorgeousest!"

your forehead creased at the word as the sliding door of the balcony clicked shut.

"you're as cute as a cow's ass, gojo!"

happy holidays!

[elikajinnie]

You Know You Should Not Have Survived That, Right? | Ghostface!Heeseung x fem!reader PART 1

PART 1 OF PART 4

Pairing: Ghostface!Heeseung x fem!reader

Warnings: Blood/injury. Violence, murder, panic attacks, stalking, obsessive behaviour/ possessive behavior.

Genre: Eventual romance, Horror/Thriller

Wordcount: 13k

Sum:

"Well, I'm not laughing," You said, your voice shaky as you moved through the house, checking every nook and cranny.

"I'm not laughing either, princess," he remarked, a term that sent a chill down your spine.

"Don't call me that," you snapped, feeling a growing sense of unease.

"Well, you never gave me your name," he said, his voice taking on a sinister edge.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅──╮

“Pretty girls covered in blood. As such, we were each in turn treated like something rare and exotic. A beautiful bird that spreads its bright wings only once a decade. Or that flower that stinks like rotting meat whenever it decides to bloom.”

You lounged on the luxurious, long white couch, surrounded by the opulence of the spacious living room. The soft glow of the TV illuminated the room, its screen broadcasting the ominous news of a series of murders gripping the city. Intrigued, you set aside your magazine, your eyes fixed on the news anchor detailing the gruesome events.

As the reporter delved into the chilling details of the latest murder, your curiosity deepened. The atmosphere in the room seemed to thicken with tension as you absorbed the unsettling information. Just as you reached for the remote to increase the volume, your mother's departure interrupted the quietude.

"I'm leaving now. You be good and stay home, alright?" Your mother's voice echoed through the room as she fumbled through her purse. You assured your mother of your compliance, bidding her farewell and locking the door behind her.

Returning to the comfort of the couch, you crawled over the backrest, disregarding the conventional way around. The remote found its way back into your hands, and you switched through channels in search of something more captivating. Finding nothing of interest, you stood and strolled to the imposing shelf beside the TV, adorned with an array of movies and decorations.

Among the diverse collection, your hand settled on a horror movie: "Your Next." It promised a refreshing twist with a resourceful final girl, a detail that appealed to your taste. Ignoring the collateral damage of two neighboring DVDs collapsing, you retrieved the movie and inserted the disc into the TV slot.

Plopping back onto the couch, you pressed play, but the movie's ominous beginning prompted you to hit pause. Rising up you headed to the kitchen in pursuit of the perfect movie snack—popcorn. The cupboard held the desired item, but with your stature, reaching proved impossible. Unfazed, you fetched a little wooden stool, conquering the height disparity.

With the popcorn secured, you turned your attention to the microwave. Engrossed in the popping symphony, you momentarily forgot about the stool now awkwardly placed in your path. As you rounded the kitchen island, your phone's ring pierced the air, and your friend Yeji's name flashed on the screen.

Answering the call, you engaged in a conversation about the latest murder, Yeji's voice laden with concern. Popcorn still in hand, you dismissed Yeji's fears, attributing the killings to a random act of violence. Unbeknownst to you, a subtle unease settled in the air.

Returning to the kitchen, you fidgeted with the knives on the island, your gaze wandering as if searching for an unseen presence. A sudden feeling of being watched sent shivers down your spine. Instinctively, you closed the balcony doors, shutters, and curtains, dispelling the eerie sensation.

With the unsettling moment behind, you resumed your movie night preparations. You bid Yeji farewell as the microwave signaled the completion of your popcorn. Snacks in hand, you adjusted the living room's lighting to a dim, cozy ambiance, casting a warm glow over the elegant surroundings.

Sinking back into the couch, you kicked your feet up on the forbidden glass table, relishing the rebellious act in your mother's absence. You popped open an energy drink, took a sip, and draped a blanket over yourrself to ward off the slight chill. In your minimalistic attire of sweatpants and a tank top, you settled into the cocoon of comfort, ready for a night of horror and suspense.

The plush, velvety blanket cocooned you on the couch as you layed sprawled. The dim lighting accentuated the opulence of the living room, and the remnants of your movie night – an empty drink and a half-eaten bowl of popcorn – scattered around you. The film's climax was unfolding on the screen as the final girl realized the treacherous intentions of those around her. You, however, had succumbed to the captivating scenes, soft snores blending seamlessly with the movie's eerie soundtrack.

A faint buzzing noise pulled you back from the realm of dreams. You hummed, your eyes fluttering open as you surveyed the living room, the movie still playing out the tense chase scene. You yawned and stretched languidly, causing the blanket to slip off your shoulders. With a groan, you paused the movie, your gaze directed towards the empty drink can on the table. Realizing your phone was missing, you decided to investigate the source of the interruption.

In the kitchen, you retrieved your misplaced phone, its screen revealing an unknown caller. The call had ended before you could answer. Intrigued, you scrolled through your recent calls, curiosity piqued by the mysterious contact. Just as you was about to turn off your phone, the device lit up again, displaying��"unknown caller."

Swiping to accept the call, you greeted the unknown voice with a simple, "Hello?"

"Hello, who is this?" The voice, smoky and melodic like honey, echoed through the phone.

"Well, who are you trying to reach?" You responded, settling back onto the couch.

"What number is this?" The voice continued, a hint of uncertainty in its tone.

"Well, what number are you trying to reach?" You countered, a playful smile touching your lips.

"I don't know," the voice admitted.

"Try the number again and see if you typed it correctly," You suggested, a playful smirk dancing on your face as you hung up. However, the persistent caller dialed again, and you felt a mix of annoyance and intrigue, answering once more.

"Hellooo?" You drawled out.

"I'm sorry; I guess I dialed the wrong number," the voice apologized.

"Then why did you dial it again?" You questioned.

"I just wanted to apologize," the man explained.

"Well, you are forgiven," You replied nonchalantly, popping a few more popcorn kernels into your mouth.

"Good to know," the man said. "Do you like scary movies?" he asked eventually, his voice oddly comforting.

You nodded, forgetting momentarily that the man couldn't see you. "Yes," you affirmed.

"What's your favorite scary movie?" he teased.

"Hmm," You tapped your chin in mock contemplation before answering. "American Psycho."

"Is that the one with Christian Bale?" the man inquired.

"Yeah," You confirmed.

"So, you got a boyfriend?" he continued, the conversation taking an unexpected turn.

"No," You huffed, the atmosphere shifting as the questions delved into personal territory.

"And why is that?" the man probed, his tone becoming more unsettling.

"Well, there isn't really anyone out there that has my attention," You replied, fidgeting with a loose thread on your pants.

"Really? Well, that's too bad," the man remarked, the conversation taking on a darker undertone.

"I knooow," You sighed, growing uneasy.

"What's your name?" he pressed further.

"Why do you want to know my name?" You questioned, sensing a growing discomfort in the exchange.

"Because I want to know who I am looking at," he said, sending a shiver down your spine.

"What did you say?" you asked, your voice tense.

"What did I say?" he feigned innocence.

"That's not funny," You replied, suddenly aware of your vulnerability. You began double-checking the security of your home, peeking through blinds and ensuring all doors were locked.

"Was it supposed to be?" he continued, the unsettling tone persisting.

"Well, I'm not laughing," You said, your voice shaky as you moved through the house, checking every nook and cranny.

"I'm not laughing either, princess," he remarked, a term that sent a chill down your spine.

"Don't call me that," you snapped, feeling a growing sense of unease.

"Well, you never gave me your name," he said, his voice taking on a sinister edge.

Your world seemed to freeze at the ominous tone. "I`m sorry, i have to go" you spat out, surveying your surroundings.

"Wait!" he urgently said.

Ignoring his plea, you hung up before swiftly ascended the stairs, your desire to secure your safety intensifying. You checked each locked door in your path, a heightened sense of urgency guiding your actions. When your phone rang again, you hesitated before answering.

"Hello?" you said, a tinge of anxiety in your voice.

"Why did you hang up? We were having a talk," the same voice echoed, sending shivers down your spine.

"Because the conversation was over on my end," you stated firmly.

"Hmm, harsh," he commented.

"Yeah, sure," you retorted, hanging up without further notice. You continued your security check, ensuring every door was securely locked. The phone continued to ring, but you silenced it, a growing sense of dread settling over you. The inability to block the unknown number only heightened your unease, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you was being watched, the shadows of your home concealing potential threats.

The unsettling tension gripped you as you navigated your home, checking each locked room, and securing your sanctuary against potential threats. The rhythmic ticking of the clock in the hallway mirrored the heavy beats of your anxious heart. You peeked into the bathroom, finding it locked, the silence within unnerving.

Advancing to your mother's bedroom, you discovered it similarly secured. The atmosphere grew thicker with each locked door, and your mind raced as you approached your own bedroom, finding it too impassable. The cold hallway seemed to close in on you, echoing your trepidation.

Your hesitant gaze fell to the phone you clutched in your hand, its screen illuminating with the persistent unknown caller.

At the fifth intrusive call, your patience snapped. Gritting your teeth, you accepted the call with a sharp, "What!?"

The man's threat reverberated through the line, his words laced with malice. "Listen here! If you hang up on me one more time, I will gut you like a fish! You hear me?!" his voice, now a raw growl, threatened violence.

"Oh yeah? Try me!" you retorted defiantly, hanging up once more. Determination flickered in your eyes as you steeled herself for whatever came next.

Just as you disconnected, a sudden, loud noise echoed from your mother's sewing room, freezing you in your tracks. Your phone, now silenced and nestled in your pocket, became an afterthought as your instincts screamed at you to tread carefully.

With deliberate steps, you tiptoed backward, avoiding the sewing room as if it held the secrets of your deepest fears. The muffled sounds behind the door only intensified your unease. You hesitated, your gaze darting around the hallway for any signs of intrusion.

Taking a calculated risk, you silently opened the nearest door, revealing your little brother's room. A wave of relief washed over you, grateful that he was away at a sleepover, shielded from the ominous events unfolding. With measured breaths, you surveyed the room, your eyes landing on a baseball bat tucked in a corner.

Your fingers closed around the familiar grip, and with resolute determination, you climbed into the closet. Leaving the shutters slightly ajar, you positioned yourself with a limited view outside. A hand pressed against your mouth, slowing your breaths as you braced for whatever loomed beyond your shelter.

The shadows played tricks in the dim light, and the palpable silence heightened your senses. Your mind raced with the possibility of an intruder in your home, the unsettling unknown leaving you shrouded in suspense. The baseball bat in your grasp became both a shield and a weapon, as you huddled in the closet, waiting, watching, and wondering about the source of the disturbance in your once-secure sanctuary.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as you crouched in the closet, hidden behind boxes. The silence surrounding you was oppressive, punctuated only by the rhythmic cadence of your own heartbeat. The baseball bat felt strangely weightless in your grasp as you stayed huddled, each passing minute amplifying the weight of the unknown.

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you noted the multiple missed calls from the mysterious man. The last futile attempt had been minutes ago, marking your solitary confinement within the closet for a staggering 15 minutes. The unnerving quiet had become a torment, a slow and relentless assailant on your sanity.

When the urge to escape finally beckoned, you hesitated. A distinct sound cut through the stillness — the bedroom door opening. Your pulse quickened, and you peeked out from the shutters, your eyes widening at the ominous figure that materialized. Towering, clad in a long black cloak with the hood obscuring any defining features, the intruder's presence exuded menace. Black combat boots and gloves, the latter gripping a gleaming hunting knife, completed the haunting ensemble. A white mask adorned the figure's face, an unsettling visage with a contorted expression that seemed to mock the gravity of the situation.

A cold shiver raced down your spine as the realization hit — this could be the killer responsible for the recent spree of murders. Was he truly after you?

You pressed a hand over your mouth, muffling your breaths, watching the masked assailant enter the room with predatory grace. His calculated steps conveyed a chilling confidence, the aura of a remorseless murderer.

You observed as the figure methodically searched the bedroom, scanning under the bed before approaching the closet. A curse echoed in your mind as the man neared your hiding place. With a mixture of fear and determination, you stood up and swung the baseball bat with all your might. A triumphant smile curled on your lips as the bat connected, eliciting a grunt of pain from the intruder who stumbled and fell to the ground.

Seizing the opportunity, you swiftly darted out of the bedroom and descended the stairs, your footsteps hurried but quiet. As you passed the living room, the horror movie still paused on the screen, another set of footsteps echoed behind you. The chase was on.

You raced around the kitchen island, leaping over the forgotten stool. Glancing back, you saw the masked figure closing the open cupboard door, only to trip over the stool, emitting a yelp and groan. It provided a brief respite for you to grab a knife from the table, your grip tightening around the handle.

The assailant rose, towering over you, his masked face betraying no emotions. Slowly, he circled the kitchen island, and you mirrored his movements, keeping a cautious distance. The gleaming hunting knife in his hand reflected danger, the blade promising pain.

"Stay away! Don't come any closer!" You shouted, but your warning fell on deaf ears. Suddenly, he lunged, grabbing your arm, the force causing you to drop the baseball bat. A sharp pain seared trough your arm as his knife sliced your forearm. A scream tore from your lips, and in desperation, you kicked the guy in the shin, gaining a momentary freedom.

With a quick slash, you retaliated, your knife finding its mark on the guy's arm and chest. A growl escaped the masked assailant as he twirled his knife, retaliating with slashes on your shoulder and arm. The pain intensified, and you cried in agony.

Undeterred, you sprinted into the living room, leaping over the backrest of the couch. Falling between the couch and the glass table, you grabbed a heavy ceramic decoration, regretting the inevitable damage to your mother's prized possession. With a forceful throw, the ornament hurtled towards the killer, shattering into a million pieces as he fell backward by the force of the throw.

"Shit!"  You gasped as the guy uttered his first words. The voice was the same one from the phone, only in a clearer and younger tone now. A realization dawned on you– the killer was someone close to your age, likely another student. The revelation only intensified the horror of the situation as you braced yourself for the dangerous dance that continued to unfold in the dimly lit living room.

The living room became an arena of survival, the air heavy with tension as you and the hooded killer engaged in a deadly dance of cat and mouse. You clutched the kitchen knife tightly in your right hand, the blade gleaming ominously in the dim light. The masked assailant, armed with his hunting knife, circled you with predatory intent, the white mask revealing nothing of his emotions or identity, leaving you to wonder about the identity of the person beneath the facade.

Your eyes remained fixed on your adversary as you edged around the room, your movements cautious yet calculated. Every instinct screamed for you to stay on guard, to be ready for any sudden strike. The sound of your footsteps on the hardwood floor was drowned out by the echo of the silent confrontation.

The tension reached its peak when the hooded killer lunged forward, slashing his knife at you with swift precision. You deftly sidestepped the attack, the blade missing you by inches. Seizing the opportunity, you swung your own knife in a retaliatory strike, aiming for his side. The hooded figure skillfully evaded the blow, showcasing a deadly proficiency in the macabre dance.

You, fueled by a desperate determination to survive, utilized every inch of the living room to your advantage. You maneuvered around furniture, using the space to your benefit, constantly seeking openings to strike.

As the chase raged on, you spotted an opportunity. A discarded stool lay nearby. With a swift kick, you sent the stool sliding toward the hooded killer's feet, hoping to trip him up. The assailant stumbled, momentarily thrown off balance. It was your chance.

Your heart raced as you sprinted down to the basement, seeking refuge in the bunker your father had installed before his departure from the family. The cool metal door creaked open, and you rushed inside, pulling it shut behind your. The air in the bunker felt heavy with tension as you fumbled for your phone, your trembling fingers dialing the emergency number. You explained the chilling situation to the police dispatcher, your voice a mixture of fear and urgency.

As you waited on the line, the minutes stretched into an eternity. The cold silence of the bunker echoed the torment in your mind. Finally, you heard the distant knocking on the bunker door. The voice on the phone instructed you to open up, assuring you that it was a police officer. You cautiously checked the security camera feed on the bunker, confirming the presence of the officer. You ended the call, entered the code, and slowly opened the door.

"Hello, officer," You greeted, your voice strained. The female officer's eyes widened in shock as she took in your disheveled appearance. "Oh, you are in rough shape, young lady," she expressed, offering assistance. Together, you ascended the stairs to a scene of organized chaos – a swarm of police officers meticulously searching every inch of the house.

"He's not here. When we arrived, the house was empty. Looks like he ran when you went in the basement," the officer informed you, providing a small sense of relief. You nodded silently as you exited through the busted open door, a visual testament to the recent struggle of the police. The flashing lights of police cars painted the scene in red and blue hues.

Paramedics approached, tending to your wounds. Your attention, however, remained fixed on the commotion surrounding your home. Your mother's voice reached your ears as she ran towards you, worry etched across her face. "Y/n!" she exclaimed, embracing her daughter and checking you over. Your response was subdued, your thoughts still lingering on the harrowing encounter.

Kyungmin, your younger brother, approached with concern in his eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked, the innocence of his question contrasting sharply with the night's events. You gazed at him, exhausted and in pain as you shook your head. Kyungmin climbed onto the gurney beside you, and you pulled him into the safety of the blanket provided by the paramedics.

A familiar face interrupted the solemn moment – the news reporter from the TV. Microphone in hand, she approached, seeking an interview. Kyungmin, ever protective, spoke up on your behalf, sternly refusing the intrusion. A police officer intervened, guiding the persistent reporter away, sparing you from further distress.

As the news crew retreated, you closed your eyes, attempting to shut out the chaos around you. However, the haunting image of the hooded killer's mask flashed in your mind, a reminder that the scars of this night would linger in your nightmares. The weight of the encounter settled on your shoulders, leaving you to grapple with the trauma that now defined your reality.

The next morning, you awoke to the persistent beeping of the alarm clock, signaling the start of a day that you wished you could forget. As you sat up in the unfamiliar guest room at Yeji's house, you took a moment to absorb your surroundings. The room, while neatly arranged, felt foreign, lacking the familiarity of your own space.

Yeji and her family had generously offered shelter to you and your family after the horrifying visit from the hooded killer. The police had taken over your home for investigation, fearing the possibility of the assailant returning. You, plagued by nightmares, had spent a sleepless night, haunted by the haunting image of the white mask and the towering figure.

Rolling out of bed, you made a feeble attempt to make it, your mind still clouded with the remnants of your unsettling dreams. You changed into a simple white blouse, ripped jeans, and sneakers, the routine serving as a small distraction from the lingering fear. Descending the stairs, you found Yeji in the kitchen, flipping pancakes.

"Good morning, Y/n! How did you sleep?" Yeji greeted, her smile an attempt to bring warmth to the gloomy atmosphere.

"Terrible," you replied bluntly, your appetite diminished. You mechanically grabbed a pancake from the plate and nibbled on it, more out of habit than hunger.

Yeji, ever considerate, suggested, "You can try to sleep during lunch. I'll cover for you."

You shrugged in response. "Are we the only ones here?" you asked, scanning the empty kitchen.

"Uh-huh! My parents and your mother left for work, and your brother also left for school. So, we should head to school as well," Yeji explained, turning off the oven and slinging her bag over her shoulder.

You wrapped the remaining pancakes in a foil wrapper, slinging your own bag over your shoulder as you made your way out to Yeji's car. The warm sunlight kissed your skin as they parked at school. However, your day took an unexpected turn as you approached the entrance and found a throng of newscasters eagerly waiting.

You and Yeji exchanged a worried look before approaching the spectacle. One of the popular girls, pointing towards you, caught the attention of the reporters. Cameras surged towards you, creating a chaotic scene that overwhelmed you. Yeji quickly pulled you away from the crowd, guiding you inside the school where the cool breeze of the air conditioning offered some relief.

"Thank you, Yeji," You muttered, still trying to steady your racing heart.

"You're welcome," Yeji replied, and the two of you walked to your lockers, ignoring the stares from other students, their whispers echoing in the hallway. The day had just begun, and you knew you would need to navigate the challenges that lay ahead, both inside the school and within yourself.

You and Yeji stood by the lockers, engrossed in a conversation when you felt an odd sensation, as if someone's eyes were burning into the back of your head. Turning slightly, you noticed Lee Heeseung, a fellow student from your biology class, standing against the lockers on the opposite side of the hallway.

Heeseung was dressed entirely in black, a black mask covering most of his face, leaving only his enigmatic eyes visible. His dark hair added an extra layer of mystery to his already imposing presence. Despite sharing the same class for two years, you and Heeseung had never exchanged a single word. His lack of communication with anyone outside his circle of friends made him an enigma. You had observed him talking only with his buddies, never participating in class discussions, and always presenting alone to the teacher`s during evaluations. It wasn't that he was mute; he simply chose not to talk.

Intrigued by this peculiar behavior, you couldn't help but find him captivating. You had noticed his striking features and the air of menace that surrounded him. Yet, no one dared to pick on him, possibly due to his good looks and the intimidating aura he exuded. A crush had developed, but you kept it to yourself, fearing rejection.

As you met Heeseung's penetrating gaze, you found yourself unable to look away. It was as if he could see through you, and you couldn't break free until Yeji's intervention snapped you back to reality.

"Y/n? You okay?" Yeji's concerned voice reached your ears.

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. Just a little tired, that's all," You replied, closing your locker. You walked with Yeji to the next class, but out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Heeseung's continued stare, unyielding even when his friend, Jake, tried to engage him in conversation.

The day passed swiftly until lunchtime, where you and Yeji found solace on a secluded bench at the end of a quiet hallway. You rested your head on Yeji's lap while attempting to catch up on much-needed sleep. Thirty minutes later, you headed to the last class of the day – biology.

Taking your usual seats by the window, Yeji braided your hair while you absentmindedly doodled on your worksheet. The teacher droned on about anatomy and nerves, but most students were more interested in their own activities. Heeseung, occupied himself with a game on his computer, occasionally glancing at the teacher.

You, also slightly distracted, glanced at Heeseung through your computer screen. You snapped out of your daze when Yeji tugged on your braid a little too hard.

"Oops, sorry," Yeji whispered as she finished the braid.

You subconsciously touched the braid and looked down at your worksheet. Glancing at Heeseung, you noticed he was focused on his computer. The rest of the class passed without further incident, leaving you with a strange mix of curiosity and unease regarding Heeseung's enigmatic gaze.

You and Yeji parted ways at the school gate, each going in your own respective directions. "I'll see you home tonight, alright?" Yeji said, giving you a warm hug. "Yes, see ya," you replied, waving as Yeji disappeared into the crowd of students leaving the school grounds.

As you headed to your after-school activities, the day unfolded with the passage of time. When the clock struck 5 PM, you found yourself finishing up, the last to leave the building. The once bustling halls were now eerily empty as you made your way to the bathroom.

In the solitude of the restroom, you decided to freshen up. You unzipped your bag and applied some lip balm, preparing to accessorize with your favorite scarf. The black and white pattern of the scarf exuded a chic and classic vibe, and as you were about to tie it, a toilet flushed behind you. Your attention shifted to the stall, and a chill ran down your spine when you saw black combat boots beneath the door.

You stiffened, a sense of dread settling in as the stall door swung open. The haunting figure from your nightmares, the same one who had attacked you the day before, emerged. The hunting knife, now clean of your blood, gleamed ominously in his hand.

"You..." you began, but your words morphed into a scream as he lunged at you, pressing you against the cold restroom wall. The impact sent a jolt of pain through your head, but the real terror came when the knife approached your throat. Bracing for the impending pain, you closed your eyes, only to find yourself still intact.

"Open your eyes," the melodic yet sinister voice from the day before demanded. Slowly, you obeyed, meeting the menacing gaze of the white-faced mask. "It's you... you are the hooded killer," you stammered out, surprisingly steady despite the fear coursing through your veins.

"I prefer the name Ghostface, but yes. That's me," he replied coolly. The knife withdrew from your throat, replaced by his hand, the blade pointed dangerously close to your face as he gripped your chin. His hollowed eyes scrutinized you, and he hummed as if evaluating your uniqueness.

"You are different than the others," he muttered cryptically. Confused and afraid, you found yourself pulled closer to him. The proximity was overwhelming, his towering figure covering you completely. Just as the situation took a more threatening turn, you seized the opportunity to elbow him in the same spot you remembered from the previous night's struggle. The move worked, and he groaned, giving you a chance to escape.

Bolting out of the bathroom, you ran out of the school, fueled by adrenaline. Your legs carried you all the way to Yeji's house. Once inside the guestroom, you hid under the safety of the bedsheets, tears streaming down your face. The questions echoed in your mind – who was this Ghostface, and why had he come for you? Only later did you realize that your black and white scarf was missing, a tangible reminder of the encounter.

Ghostface`s POV:

Ghostface observed your movements from the shadows of the bathroom, hidden behind the stall door. He had anticipated your arrival, a sense of obsession driving him to seek you out once more. The thrill of the chase, the anticipation of seeing your face when the mask was revealed – it fueled his every move.

As you entered and began to freshen up, Ghostface couldn't help but revel in the proximity. The rhythmic pulse of his own excitement resonated beneath the pale mask. The mask, a mere facade that concealed the unsettling grin he felt beneath.

The black and white scarf caught his attention – an accessory he associated with you. The pattern, a visual echo of his fixation. A piece of you, he thought. In that moment, he felt a compulsion to possess it, to keep it close as a memento of this encounter.

When you realized his presence and screamed, Ghostface reveled in the fear he induced. The exhilaration surged as he pressed you against the cold wall, the metallic glint of the hunting knife dancing dangerously close to your throat. He watched you close your eyes, surrendering to the terror he wrought.

"Open your eyes," he commanded, wanting to savor the fear reflected in your gaze. The hollow sockets of the mask mirrored his emotions – a twisted dance between malevolence and obsession. He examined you closely, drawn to the nuances of your reaction.

You, surprisingly resilient, managed to escape his grip, Ghostface grunted in pain. The elbow strike had found its mark, the wound from the previous encounter throbbing beneath the black fabric of his costume. Yet, the pain was inconsequential compared to the thrill of the chase.

Impressed by your cunning, Ghostface couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. You had remembered the weakness he exposed the night before. He allowed himself a cold grin beneath the mask, admiring your resilience.

As you fled the scene, Ghostface reached for the scarf you had left behind. It lay on the ground, a symbol of your vulnerability. He picked it up, feeling the soft fabric in his gloved hands. A dark satisfaction enveloped him as he tucked it into his sleeve, a macabre trophy of his obsession with you. Later, as he changed out of the costume, he felt the wound reopen, the blood under the bandage a reminder of the dance between predator and prey. Yet, nothing could overshadow the twisted pleasure he derived from the encounter.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅──╮

The dinner table was a silent gathering, each scrape of utensils against plates echoing through the room. You sat with your family and Yeji's, your appetite lost in the weight of recent events. Pushing your food back and forth, you barely registered the mundane sounds of family dinner.

The doorbell interrupted the uneasy quiet, prompting Yeji's father to rise and welcome two unexpected guests. Police officers, their presence cast a somber mood over the room. "Hello, come in," Yeji's father invited. The officers' gaze turned to you, and with a curt nod from one of them, they addressed you. "Ready to go, Mrs. y/l/n?" You simply nodded, a silent acknowledgment, and followed the officers to their car, waving goodbye to your brother Kyungmin.

Seated in the back of the police car, you stared out of the window, watching the night pass by in a blur. The quiet journey took you to the police station, where the cold, sterile atmosphere greeted you. Zipping up your hoodie for warmth, you sat alone in a stark room, the minutes stretching into an eternity.

The interview was a chilling recount of the horrors you had faced. Finally, the clock on the wall revealed the lateness of the hour, nearing 1 AM. The same police officer who brought you in now drove you back, his partner strangely absent. Suddenly, a jolt rocked the car, prompting the officer to stop. "What was that?" You asked, concern in your voice. "I don't know, stay here," the officer commanded as he exited the vehicle, leaving you locked inside.

Unbeknownst to you, the officer had driven over a gruesome scene—a lifeless, bloodied body. As he knelt down to investigate, a swift strike ended his life. Ghostface emerged from the shadows, the thrill of the kill evident behind his mask. His eyes gleamed with a sinister delight as he looked at the two corpses.

You, oblivious to the horror unfolding outside, remained locked in the car, scrolling on your phone. But when you looked up the sudden appearance of Ghostface in the rearview mirror sent shivers down your spine. Frantically attempting to escape, you found yourself trapped as Ghostface circled the car, his gloved hand pressing the car keys.

With an aggressive pull, the door swung open, and you attempted to flee. Ghostface, however, was faster. He seized your ankle, and the glint of his knife traced a painful path down your calf. Your scream echoed in the night as you kicked free, running into the cold darkness. Ghostface, fueled by sadistic pleasure, pursued you, the chilling words hanging in the air, "Go ahead and run, princess.... It only makes it more fun for me."

You cursed under your breath as you realized the police car had stopped in the midst of a dense forest. Shadows loomed ominously, and the flickering moonlight cast an eerie glow through the twisted branches. The forest, a labyrinth of darkness, was the worst place to be pursued by a relentless killer. You ran past trees, stumbling over uneven ground, twigs slapping against your face as if nature itself conspired to impede your escape. Yet, you pressed on, ignoring the obstacles that sought to detain you, focusing solely on surviving the chilling pursuit.

In your frantic flight, you tripped over something soft, and you grunted as your palms scraped against the unforgiving ground. Turning around, you let out a horrified scream— you had stumbled upon a lifeless body. Ghostface emerged from the shadows, his ominous figure contrasting with the darkness of the forest. "Don't feel bad," he taunted. You snapped your gaze up at him, the fear in your eyes palpable. "Did..you kill them?" you stammered.

"Who else would?" Ghostface retorted with a chilling sarcasm that sent shivers down your spine. "But why?" You questioned, desperation etched in your voice. Ghostface, advancing closer, seemed almost amused. "Oh! You want to know my motive?" he mocked. "You know, I really don't know. Call it impulsivity, call it incidental. But for me?" He waved his knife theatrically. "It's just for fun." His voice dripped with a sinister tone that echoed through the dark expanse.

"You are crazy!" You exclaimed, your defiance cutting through the tension. Ghostface feigned hurt, responding, "Oh, now that's just hurtful, princess." You, angered by the name, insisted, "I said not to call me that!" Ghostface, undeterred, continued his twisted rambling, offering alternatives like "sweetheart," "baby," "sunshine," and "honey." You rejected each one with growing frustration.

"But that's no fun... Y/n," Ghostface announced, relishing the way your name rolled off his tongue. Clenching your fists, you felt vulnerable and exposed, alone in the heart of the foreboding forest. "This isn't supposed to be fun!" you shouted. Ghostface merely chuckled, declaring, "Well, it's fun for me."

As he lunged to attack, you instinctively ducked and darted past him, tears streaming down your face. His sinister voice echoed in your ears, "Run, run! I will always be right behind you!" Everywhere you looked, you saw him, a phantom in the shadows—behind a tree, perched on a rock. Your mind played tricks on you, every shadow morphing into a potential threat.

Gasping for breath, you collapsed on the asphalt of the road, tears blurring your vision. Gripping your chest, you felt a crushing weight. Your throat tightened, breaths came in ragged gasps, and your old wounds reopened, mingling with the fresh gash on your leg. Overwhelmed, you succumbed to a panic attack. The only illumination came from the vacant police car, casting an isolated glow on you amidst the darkness.

Voices and another set of headlights pierced through the night as another car approached. As the darkness claimed your consciousness, exhaustion took over, and the traumatic ordeal drew to a temporary close.

Heeseung`s POV

Heeseung entered his house, greeted by the sight of his father slouched in the armchair, oblivious to the world, drowned in the stupor of alcohol. The flickering TV cast a pale glow on the worn-out carpet, showcasing some mindless commercial. Heeseung felt a twinge of resentment towards his father, a lingering disdain for the man who had remained after his mother's departure. Yet, beneath the layers of frustration, there lingered a reluctant sense of caring, however faint.

Tired of the oppressive atmosphere, Heeseung ascended the stairs, seeking refuge in the solace of his bedroom. The click of the lock echoed in the silence, shutting out the world beyond. Slinging his bag onto the bed, he removed his hoodie, letting it join the discarded laundry. The red-stained bandages peeked through as he peeled off his t-shirt, revealing evidence of wounds that had reopened that day.

A determined resolve etched on his face, Heeseung stood before the mirror. The vivid red of his bandages against the pale of his skin hinted at the violence he had unleashed. Swift and skilled, he rewrapped the bandages with practiced efficiency, ensuring the wounds were concealed once more. Fresh clothes replaced the discarded ones, and with a meticulous routine, he zipped open his bag.

The ghostface costume emerged, stained with the evidence of his actions. Heeseung soaked it, allowing the water to wash away the blood and sweat, leaving no trace of his grim deeds. The hunting knife, an extension of his malevolence, was cleansed under a resolution that eradicated any lingering residue under the unforgiving UV rays.

Then, he delicately pulled out the scarf, a token of his encounter with you. The soft material caressed by his fingertips, a reminder of a night that had sparked something unfamiliar within him. Collapsing onto his bed, he stared up at the ceiling, the walls adorned with posters from games and horror movies. With a contented sigh, he closed his eyes, allowing thoughts of you to fill his mind.

As slumber claimed him, a subtle smile lingered on his face, an unsettling contrast to the darkness that surrounded him.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅──╮

Your eyes fluttered open, and the harsh hospital lights made you wince. Panic seized you as the memories of the previous night flooded your mind. Before the fear could fully consume you, a calming hand and a familiar voice reached out to you.

"It's okay, it's okay!" Yeji's voice reassured you, and you turned your head to see your friend by your side.

"Yeji? Where am I? What happened?" Your voice was shaky, the events of the night still lingering in your consciousness.

"You're in the hospital. We found you on the ground... was it him again?" Yeji's concern was evident in her eyes as you slowly settled back onto the bed. The sterile scent and the hum of medical equipment around you became more apparent.

"Yeah... it was," you admitted, your gaze falling to the IV in your arm. Vivid images of the killer and the police officer's death replayed in your mind.

"We know, we know. The cops have taken care of everything," Yeji explained, attempting to offer some comfort.

"Yeji... why is he doing this... to me?" your plea held a mix of confusion and desperation as you sought answers from your friend.

"I don't—" Yeji began, but her words were interrupted by another voice entering the room.

"It's because you're a badass!" Kyungmin, your younger brother, announced as he bounded into the room. He climbed onto the chair beside your bed, his eyes filled with admiration.

"What?" you looked at him in surprise.

"Think about it! In every scenario, the victims die, but you have survived every single encounter! You're the final girl, sis! You'll kill him and live on to tell the tale!" Kyungmin explained with unbridled excitement.

"Kyungmin... how do you know so much about horror movies?" Yeji asked, attempting to redirect the conversation.

"Oh... well... we have them, and..." Kyungmin began, but you tuned out their conversation. Your mind was focused on the realization your brother had presented.

When Ghostface had first come after you, he wasn't prepared for your resourcefulness and determination to fight back. Despite multiple encounters, he hadn't succeeded in taking your life. He toyed with you, savoring the chase. You took a deep breath, absorbing the truth. You was the final girl. A surge of determination welled within you, replacing the fear with a fierce resolve to confront the hooded killer once and for all.

Days blurred together for you as you layed in the hospital bed, recovering from the harrowing events that unfolded. Yeji, being the devoted friend she was, visited daily, bringing both updates on school life and a mountain of homework. The constant drone of the television in the corner of the room kept the atmosphere heavy, each news report recounting the horrifying murders that had taken place.

You winced every time the name "Ghostface" echoed through the speakers. The news anchors dramatized your survival story, casting you as a resilient heroine in the face of unspeakable horror. The relentless coverage gnawed at your nerves, replaying the trauma with every broadcast.

One afternoon, as the news segment started, Yeji seized the opportunity to bring some normalcy to the room. With a swift movement, she turned off the TV and turned towards you.

"No TV now, we have a test to study for, and you need to know this when you get released from here," Yeji declared, holding a biology textbook in her hands. "Now eat your pudding while I read chapter 13 to you."

You grumbled, your mood not the brightest, but you obediently took a spoonful of the pudding the nurse had brought in. Yeji, undeterred, began firing questions from the textbook, ensuring you kept up with the coursework despite the challenging circumstances.

As Yeji read, the words of biology mingled with the beeping of machines and the occasional murmur from other patients. The room transformed into a makeshift classroom, a haven from the chaos outside its walls. 

Heeseung/Ghostface`s POV:

Heeseung slumped in his biology class, your empty seat serving as a constant reminder of your absence. The room felt colder, the air heavier, and his restlessness intensified with every passing minute. The usual banter and whispers of the students around him seemed distant, drowned out by the void left in your wake.

His internal conflict manifested in a sharp edge to his demeanor. When a girl approached him, attempting to initiate a conversation, he reacted with an uncharacteristic harshness, pushing her away without a second thought. He needed to be alone, away from the prying eyes and casual interactions that only accentuated his yearning for your presence.

Heeseung abruptly left the classroom, making his way to the bathroom. Locking the door behind him, he flung his bag on the cold, tiled floor, the clatter echoing in the small space. With an impatient pull, he yanked off his mask, revealing a face twisted with frustration as he glared at his own reflection in the grimy mirror.

The internal turmoil was eating at him. He missed you more than he had anticipated, and it bothered him on a visceral level. The need to see you, to hear you, to be close to you, clawed at his chest like a relentless beast. It was a sensation he couldn't easily dismiss, a yearning that fueled his restlessness.

With a frustrated groan, Heeseung unleashed his anger on the bathroom stall. A violent kick sent the door crashing into the wall, leaving an unmistakable dent. For a moment, the physical release offered a semblance of satisfaction, but the ache persisted.

Regaining composure, Heeseung gathered his belongings, pulling the mask back into place. He left the bathroom, his tardiness to class a consequence he was willing to accept in exchange for the futile attempt to quell the storm of emotions within him. The hospital, where you resided, loomed in his thoughts like a magnetic force, drawing him closer with each passing second. 

Ghostface lingered outside the hospital in the cool night, shadows cloaking his figure as he observed the changing of the nurses. With calculated precision, he navigated the terrain, making his way toward the entrance. A gentle nudge opened the glass door, and he slipped in, avoiding detection as he roamed through the silent hallways.

Peeking through a hand mirror, he strategically eliminated the nurses, each swift kill leaving a trail of lifeless bodies in his wake. The hospital became a dark canvas painted with the aftermath of his murderous spree. A sinister whistle beckoned a lone nurse towards him, her fate sealed with a quick, silent demise.

Ghostface moved with chilling efficiency, silencing doctors and nurses alike, his path leading him to the second floor. In the dimly lit hallway, he encountered a lone doctor, oblivious to the danger closing in. The knife struck, ending the doctor's life, adding one more casualty to the night's symphony of death.

Room 104, the destination imprinted on Ghostface's mind. With stealth and malevolence, he approached the door, a predator seeking its prey. Slowly creaking it open, he peered inside, revealing you asleep on the bed, Yeji on a chair beside you. Ghostface hesitated, his knife poised for the strike, but something in your peaceful slumber gave him pause.

A twisted fascination held Ghostface captive as he studied your sleeping face. Unbeknownst to him, Yeji stirred and gasped, her eyes widening with terror. Swiftly, Ghostface redirected his attention, raising his knife. A sudden movement caught his peripheral vision, and he turned to see you waking up.

"No... please," You whispered, your voice a plea in the night. Ghostface lowered his weapon, momentarily captivated by the desperation in your eyes. It was a fleeting moment before he turned and, with a brutal efficiency, stabbed Yeji, silencing her pleas. The room became a stage for a cruel dance of violence.

As Ghostface tossed Yeji aside, he realized you had vanished from the bed. A thrill coursed through him, and he pursued you down the dimly lit hallway. Your panicked breaths echoed, the chase heightening the tension. You darted into a room, and Ghostface followed.

Closing and locking the door behind him, he taunted, "Come out, come out, wherever you are, princess. I know you are here." You, hidden behind boxes, held your breath, fear etched across your face. Ghostface continued his macabre game, attempting to coax you out with promises of conversation.

When you remained silent, he sighed, "Come on, princess. Come out, and we can talk like adults." As he approached, you lunged, wrapping yourself around his back. A violent struggle ensued, you desperately fighting for your life. Ghostface slammed you against the wall, causing you to release your grip.

Turning to face you, he seized your wrists, pinning them above your head. In the dimly lit supply closet, Ghostface loomed over you, relishing the terror in your eyes. "There you are," he whispered, a sinister grin beneath the mask. You whimpered as he silenced you with a hand over your mouth. "Shhh. We can't have anyone waking up and disturbing our sweet time together now, can we?" he mused, his voice dripping with malevolence. "I just had to see you, princess," he added, a cruel fascination gleaming in his eyes.

Ghostface had been studying you, relishing in the desperation that flickered in your eyes after days of separation. The ache of missing you had grown unbearable. So caught up in his twisted fascination, he didn't notice when you unleashed a swift knee to his groin. The pain jolted through him, and he staggered back, momentarily incapacitated.

Seizing the opportunity, you fled, unlocking the door and making your way down the stairs and out of the hospital. Outside, you paused to catch your breath, relief washing over you. However, your momentary respite was shattered when you looked up and gasped. Ghostface loomed in your hospital room, holding Yeji with a knife to her throat.

Fear gripped you, and you cried out, rushing back inside, disregarding the lifeless bodies scattered around. As you reached your hospital room, you opened the door cautiously. The only sight that greeted you was Yeji on the ground, unconscious but seemingly unharmed. However, your moment of relief was short-lived.

A knife pressed against your back, and an arm coiled around your chest. Ghostface's voice, a sinister whisper, cut through the air. "I knew you'd be back when you saw your precious friend helpless."

Frustration welled within you. "What do you want with me? If you wanted to kill me, you would have done so!"

No answer came from Ghostface, and you strained to catch a glimpse of him through the corner of your eye. The mask revealed nothing, only his steady breaths. A chilling silence lingered before he spoke again, his voice devoid of emotion. "I just wanted to see you."

With an abrupt release, Ghostface pushed you away. You scrambled to the side, your eyes wide as you realized he had disappeared. The unnerving encounter left you perplexed, but your concern shifted back to Yeji. Clambering over, you checked Yeji's pulse and breathed a sigh of relief at the reassuring signs of life. The inexplicable motive of Ghostface remained a haunting mystery.

A full week had passed since Yeji and you were discharged from the hospital, which had been grappling with a significant loss of staff. Unbeknownst to you, surviving encounters with Ghostface had turned the two of you into unwilling celebrities, your stories circulating through hushed whispers and frightened glances.

You, especially, wanted no part of this unwanted popularity. After finishing your school day, you walked to your car and drove to the mall, seeking solace in the mundane routine of shopping. You wandered through the mall, your hood pulled over your head, two shopping bags in hand. Amid the hustle and bustle, a notification chimed on your phone, drawing your attention. Unaware of your surroundings, you collided with someone.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" you exclaimed, stepping back. When you looked up, you realized you had crashed into Heeseung. He stood there, clad in jeans and a black hoodie, his own hood covering most of his face except for his piercing eyes. A black medical mask concealed the lower half of his face.

"No worries!" Jake, who stood beside Heeseung, chimed in. "Hey, you're Y/n!" he added.

"Yeah, that's me," You replied, a hint of confusion in your voice. Heeseung remained silent, his eyes fixed on you. The air thickened with an unspoken tension, leaving you to wonder about the thoughts hidden behind Heeseung's enigmatic gaze.

Jake leaned down with a friendly smile, resembling a puppy eager for attention. "Hey, it's totally cool if you don't wanna, but there's a small party tonight at my house. If it sparks some interest, just hit me up, and I'll text you the address," he said.

You hummed, looking at him. "Eh, sure... I'll think about it. Thanks," you replied.

"Oh, is that Candyman!?" Jake added, peeking into your shopping bag and spotting the horror movie disc. "You like horror movies?" he asked.

You glanced down at your shopping bag and then back up at Jake, nodding. "Have you seen it?" you inquired.

"Sure, I have! The killer and victim falling in love with each other? That's a new one in horror, if you ask me. It was refreshing!" Jake said.

"Sure," You replied. However, your attention shifted when you noticed Heeseung extending his hand, his fingers curled into a fist. Perplexed, you looked at him with confusion. Heeseung then opened his palm, revealing a heart-shaped chocolate, and nudged it toward you.

"That means it's for you," Jake explained.

"Oh, thank you," You said, blushing lightly as you took the chocolate from Heeseung. Your fingers brushed, and you couldn't help but notice the warmth of Heeseung's skin. The size difference between the chocolate in his hand and yours intrigued you. Before you could say more, Jake ushered Heeseung away.

"Well, you think about the party today! It was nice meeting you," Jake called back as he guided Heeseung toward the gaming store.

"Yeah, you too," you muttered to yourself. You looked down at the chocolate, opened the wrapper, and popped it into your mouth, savoring the unexpectedly delicious taste of caramel. With a shrug, you tossed the wrapper into a nearby trash can and continued with your shopping, thoughts of the party lingering in your mind.

Heeseung`s POV:

Heeseung stood near the entrance of the mall, his attention lost in his thoughts as the world passed by. A sudden impact jolted him, and he instinctively prepared to glare at the perpetrator. However, when his eyes met yours all traces of irritation dissipated, replaced by a sense of fascination.

You mumbled an apology, your voice weaving a sense of normalcy into his troubled world. As you engaged in conversation with Jake, Heeseung found himself feeling strangely giddy, observing you act so effortlessly regular. Little did you know that he was the unseen cause of the disturbance in her life, a hidden figure orchestrating chaos from the shadows.

His focus shifted to the interaction between you and Jake, and a subtle warmth filled his chest. He watched as you accepted the heart-shaped chocolate from him, your fingers briefly brushing in the exchange. The touch sent a pleasant tingle down his spine, leaving him with a subtle, lingering joy.

Jake pulled him away toward the gaming store, and Heeseung went willingly, turning his gaze back for a moment to observe you. From afar, he witnessed you unwrap the chocolate and take a bite, his heart lifting with happiness. A smile, hidden beneath the mask, crept onto his face. The only indication of his joy was the gentle crinkle at the corners of his eyes, a silent expression of contentment as he continued to watch from the shadows.

The room Heeseung was in was dimly lit, the atmosphere carrying an air of calculated calmness. He opened the closet, concealing the bag with the Ghostface costume and the hunting knife with meticulous care. As the door closed, the concealed items seemed to vanish into the shadows. Heeseung's focus shifted to the clothes he had recently purchased, the jeans hugging his legs, a black t-shirt embracing his frame, and a leather jacket adding a touch of mystery. A quick slick of his hair back completed the transformation.

He walked out of the room, leaving behind the ghost of his darker intentions. The party preparations were already underway, and Heeseung joined Jake, Jay, Niki, Jungwon, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and their other friends. Working together, they transformed the space into a lively venue, laughter and music echoing through the walls.

Heeseung chose not to return home; there was nothing for him there. His father, a haunting figure from his past, rested in the depths of a secluded forest, far removed from prying eyes. Today marked the culmination of his plans, and your presence at the party was an unexpected yet welcomed development.

As the festivities commenced, people streamed in, each face a blur of insignificance to Heeseung. He maintained his aloof demeanor, detached from the jovial conversations around him. In the midst of the crowd, he waited patiently, his attention fixed on the entrance, anticipating the arrival of the one person who truly mattered to him.

Your POV:

You and Yeji moved with a silent synchronicity, your stealthy escape from the house guided by the allure of the unknown night. Dressed in contrasting styles, Yeji embraced chic elegance, while you opted for black jeans paired with a red off-shoulder top. The two of you ventured into the world outside, leaving behind the constraints of parental knowledge.

The party pulsated with life as you arrived, the atmosphere thick with the scent of alcohol, drugs, and the perspiration of dancing bodies. The booming music enveloped you as you navigated through the crowd. Yeji found her boyfriend, disappearing into the sea of people, leaving you to explore the chaotic beauty of the gathering on your own.

With a drink in hand, you claimed a vacant spot on a couch. It was an unconventional choice, sharing the space with a couple too engrossed in each other to notice your presence. As you sipped your drink, you observed the rhythmic movements on the dance floor, losing yourself in the pulsating beats.

Your gaze wandered, and unexpectedly, it met Heeseung's. For the first time, the black mask was absent, revealing the entirety of his face. You found yourself captivated by his handsome features, his sharp lines softened by the absence of the usual disguise. You chewed on your bottom lip, unknowingly drawn into an observation that felt both intrusive and intimate.

Heeseung, engaged in conversation with Sunghoon, eventually turned his head. As his eyes met yours, the intensity in his gaze was palpable. You, caught off guard, quickly averted your eyes, the unexpected connection leaving you both intrigued and uneasy. 

Heeseung`s POV:

Heeseung's attention wavered as he conversed with Sunghoon, a subtle force pulling at him, urging him to look elsewhere. And when he did, his eyes found you in the crowd. The chaotic surroundings seemed to fade away, leaving only you in his field of vision.

A strange sensation bloomed in Heeseung's chest, an unfamiliar warmth that spread through him. The sight of you stirred something within him, a desire to sweep you away from the prying eyes of the party and offer you everything he had, the entirety of his world.

A smirk played on Heeseung's lips as he locked eyes with you. He raised his drink to his lips, savoring the liquid as he continued to gaze at you, a silent promise lingering in the air.

Heeseung confidently placed his finished drink on the table and strolled past the dancing floor, heading straight toward you. The glances from his friends, filled with confusion, didn't deter him. A quick glance at his wristwatch made him grin. He had time.

Stopping in front of you, he extended his hand and gestured towards the dancing floor. At your initial hesitation, he raised an eyebrow, silently questioning. You, after putting down your own drink, took his hand. He licked his lips before gently pulling you towards the dancing floor.

As you danced, Heeseung encouraged you with smiles, and to his surprise, you started to move with more confidence. He grinned and, seizing the opportunity, placed his hands on your waist. The synchronization between you two was so natural that you didn't notice a growing circle of people around you, cheering and hyping you up.

The dance reached its climax when Heeseung gripped you, spinning you around before ending with a dramatic pose – him holding you in a dip. The applause and cheers from the crowd engulfed you, but in that moment, Heeseung and you seemed to exist in your own world, your eyes locked, both of you catching your breaths.

Heeseung lifted you up again with a playful grin before backing away. The music abruptly stopped, and everyone turned their attention to Jay, who held the microphone.

"I just got news that the principal is stuck up by the flagpole at school!" Jay announced, and the crowd erupted in excitement, rushing out of the house to witness the unexpected spectacle.

Your POV:

Your surprise flickered across your face when you noticed someone standing in front of you. However, as Heeseung came into view, that initial surprise morphed into a different kind of astonishment. When he extended his hand, asking you to dance, you hesitated for a moment, glancing around at the lively atmosphere. The music pulsed through the air, beckoning you to join in the fun.

Feeling a sudden burst of confidence, you accepted Heeseung's hand and joined him on the dance floor. As the rhythm took over, you grinned, noticing the surprise in Heeseung's expression. The music became a bridge, connecting you in a dance that felt surprisingly natural. You felt good dancing with Heeseung, the movements easy and fluid.

The dance reached its peak, and you ended with a pose that left you mesmerized, locking eyes with Heeseung. It was a moment suspended in time until Jay's announcement shattered the spell. The shocking news about the principal by the flagpole sent a wave of confusion through the crowd, and the house emptied with lightning speed.

You stood there, shocked, watching the sudden exodus. The party had dissipated in an instant, leaving you alone in the now-quiet room. Your gaze searched for Heeseung, only to find that he, too, had vanished along with the rest of the revelers.

The flickering light of the TV cast a surreal glow over the room as the stragglers from the party settled in to watch Train to Busan. You, initially indifferent, sat beside Yeji, who had pleaded with you to stay. The remaining company included Yeji's boyfriend Jiyoo, Doyun, Beomseok, and Byeol—classmates whom you recognized but didn't particularly engage with.

As the movie unfolded on the screen, Beomseok began a vociferous rant, berating the film's intelligence and boastfully claiming he'd easily survive a horror movie. Doyun, unnoticed by the others, vanished in pursuit of a beer, only to meet his demise at Ghostface's hands in the kitchen.

Byeol, prompted by a call from his concerned mother, left the gathering, unknowingly walking towards his fatal encounter with Ghostface, his life brutally ended in his own car.

Feeling the need to escape the awkwardness of the situation, you excused yourself, heading upstairs in search of the bathroom. Locking yourself in, you remained oblivious to the unfolding bloodshed until a piercing scream echoed through the house. Startled, you rushed downstairs, only to be met with a nightmarish scene.

Jiyoo lay lifeless on the floor, Yeji wailing in grief, and Beomseok standing beside her, bloodied and wounded, wielding a pan in defense. Beomseok, acknowledging your presence, blamed you for the chaos, proclaiming that your mere presence had attracted the crazed Ghostface. However, the sudden sound of a gunshot silenced him as he fell backward, shot by an unseen assailant.

Turning towards the kitchen, your eyes widened at the sight of Ghostface—his mask smeared with blood, holding a knife and a gun. The gun was now pointed at you, and you instinctively raised your hands in surrender.

"Please..." Yeji pleaded, fear evident in her tear-filled eyes.

Ghostface disregarded Yeji and turned his masked visage toward you, his eyes hidden behind the haunting expression. "You really are a gem, do you know that, sweetheart?" he remarked, his voice carrying an unsettling calmness. "You know, when I first broke into your house, I wanted to end you," he continued, the weight of his words settling like a suffocating blanket, "but afterwards? I came to the realization that I don't want to kill you."

A mixture of confusion and terror clouded your expression as you ventured, "Then... what do you want to do?"

An airy laugh escaped Ghostface's concealed mouth, sending shivers down your spine. "I want you to be mine forever," he declared, the words hanging in the air like a sinister melody.

"What...?" You uttered, unable to conceal the fear in your voice.

Ghostface chuckled, "So let me make you a deal. If you come with me right now, I will leave your friend alive. Your choice."

The gravity of the decision weighed heavily on your shoulders. Your gaze flickered between Yeji, still engulfed in sorrow, and the masked figure before you. The room seemed to close in, the silence punctuated only by the muffled sobs of Yeji. In that harrowing moment, you grappled with an impossible choice, the consequences echoing through the chilling laughter of the masked assailant.

Before you could comprehend the gravity of his words, a shot rang out, and Ghostface vanished into hiding. A police officer, responding to a noise complaint, entered the scene, providing momentary relief. Another officer appeared in the doorway, and you felt a surge of gratitude.

However, the relief was short-lived. The first officer, in a moment of panic at seeing Ghostface peek out behind the wall, began firing indiscriminately. The room descended into chaos, and your, eyes wide with horror, witnessed the accidental demise of your friend. Yeji's lifeless body lay on the ground, a casualty of the very protectors who were supposed to ensure safety.

In shock, you stumbled down the stairs and out of the house. The cop who inadvertently caused the tragedy looked on in horror, realizing the magnitude of the mistake. 

The air crackled with tension, and the scent of blood lingered like an ominous premonition. Your tear-filled eyes remained fixed on Yeji's lifeless form, an overwhelming grief tightening your chest.

In the midst of the disarray, two sudden, deafening gunshots pierced the air. The cops, caught off guard, crumpled to the floor- dead. The room fell into shocked silence, broken only by Ghostface's eerie chuckle. Emerging from the shadows, he stepped over the fallen officers, his dark cloak billowing like a phantom in the night.

Ghostface's masked gaze shifted from the lifeless bodies to you. He shook his head in a feigned disappointment. "See what happens when you don't trust me, princess? Now your friend is dead." The callous words cut through the air, leaving you speechless as fresh tears streamed down your face.

Crouching down beside you, Ghostface tutted disapprovingly. He reached out, his gloved hand cupping your chin, wiping away tears with a scrap of his cloak. "Don't cry, my love," he whispered, his voice a chilling murmur. "I would hate to ruin your pretty mascara."

Your tear-streaked face, illuminated by the flickering lights of police cars in the distance, revealed the toll of the horror you had witnessed. As exhaustion overcame you, your body gave in, and you collapsed against the masked figure, your breaths shallow and ragged. Exhausted and broken, you could only muster silent sobs, as you succumbed to the darkness.

Ghostface's voice, a chilling contrast to the chaos that had unfolded, whispered reassurance to the shattered girl in his arms. "Oh, my poor dear... Don't worry. I will take good care of you, my precious gem." His words, seemingly soothing, echoed with an unsettling promise as he gently lifted you from the blood-stained scene, cradling you like a fragile doll.

Guiding you towards a hidden car, Ghostface laid you down in the backseat with a tenderness that contradicted the violence that had transpired moments ago. The muted glow of the streetlights illuminated his masked visage as he carefully arranged you, the weight of your unconscious form a reminder of the darkness that clung to him.

Returning to the house, Ghostface, a master of deception, meticulously staged the aftermath. Beomseok's lifeless body was draped in the iconic Ghostface costume, a macabre transformation that would divert any lingering suspicions. The scene bore the haunting imprint of a horror movie set, with the pale moonlight casting eerie shadows over the distorted reality he had crafted.

Having completed his sinister tableau, Ghostface returned to the idling car. Opening the door with a sense of purpose, he found you still lost in the refuge of unconsciousness. Ghostface slid into the driver's seat, his gloved hands gripping the steering wheel with a steely resolve.

As the car glided away from the crime-ridden suburban tableau, Ghostface's eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, a sinister smile hidden beneath the mask. The darkened highway stretched out before him, leading to the next town.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅──╮

The groggy haze began to lift from your mind as you slowly awoke in an unfamiliar bed. You winced, feeling a dull ache throughout your body, and a groan escaped your lips as you sat up. The room around you was dimly lit, and the bed you found yourself on was surprisingly comfortable.

Your eyes scanned the surroundings, and a sudden wave of realization hit you. Memories of the horrifying events from the night before flooded back, and your heart sank. Yeji, your friend, was dead, and Ghostface had taken you.

Your hands gripped the edge of the table beside the bed as a heart-wrenching sob threatened to escape. You couldn't comprehend the nightmare you had become a part of.

A note on the table caught your attention, and you read the ominous message. "Fresh clothes in the closet, take a shower princess." The word 'princess' sent shivers down your spine, and your eyes widened with dread. Nevertheless, you gathered yourself and steeled your resolve.

Waddling towards the door, you tried the handle, only to find it locked. Frustration and fear fueled your determination. You gritted your teeth and surveyed the room for another way out. Spotting another door, you cautiously approached and turned the handle, revealing a surprisingly luxurious bathroom.

The sight of the pristine facilities contrasted sharply with the terror of the previous night. Taking a deep breath, you decided to follow the note's instructions. You crumpled the note in your hand, a silent rebellion against the unseen captor, before locking the bathroom door behind you.

The hot water cascaded over you, washing away the physical and emotional stains of the previous night. You lingered, lost in your thoughts, as if the water could cleanse you of the horror you had experienced.

Emerging from the shower, you found the promised clothes in the closet. A pair of pants and a warm sweater offered some comfort in this strange place. You dressed quickly, your mind racing with uncertainty and fear.

Once again facing the locked door, you sighed. The feeling of entrapment settled in your chest, but you pushed it aside, determined to confront whatever awaited you beyond that door. With one last glance around the room, you returned to the bed and sat, bracing yourself for whatever came next.

When the door to the bedroom clicked open, you cautiously pushed it ajar. Peering into the adjacent spaces, you found yourself in a kitchen with a faint aroma of something cooking. To your right, a living room unfolded, and in its midst sat Ghostface, the embodiment of your nightmares. Yet, he appeared different—regular jeans, a black t-shirt, and the ominous Ghostface mask, casually manspreading in a chair, hands resting comfortably on his lap. The mask concealed his expression, leaving you to grapple with the mystery of the man who had brought you here.

"Come on out, princess," his voice rumbled, carrying the roughness of a morning awakening. You hesitated for a moment, your eyes fixed on the mysterious figure. You cautiously stepped forward, closing the bedroom door behind you. The click of the lock echoed in the room, and Ghostface gestured for you to come closer.

With hesitance in your steps, you moved towards him, your eyes flickering between the enigmatic mask and the man beneath it. Ghostface didn't rush you, his posture remaining relaxed as if he had all the time in the world. 

But as you approached, his strong hands shot out, gripping your waist, and he effortlessly pulled you onto his lap. "There you are," he said, his voice surprisingly calm, as if this was an ordinary encounter.

You stiffened, gazing into the mask that concealed his identity. The weight of the question lingering in your eyes, you asked, "Who are you? Why did you do this to me?"

"Oh, my love," he replied, his voice softening, "I told you it's because I love you." Before you could react, his hands moved to the secure straps of the mask. Holding your breath, you watched as he unclasped the clasps, removing the Ghostface mask and tossing it aside. A gasp escaped your lips as Heeseung's handsome and sharp face was revealed.

"Heeseung!?" you exclaimed, the shock evident in your voice. The revelation left you speechless. "You're Ghostface?"

"Yes, I am," Heeseung confirmed, his grip on you firm but gentle. "And you are mine." With those words, he pulled you in for a kiss. You gasped at the unexpected intimacy. Conflicting emotions swirled within you—your long-time crush, Heeseung, was kissing you.

You felt an unexpected surge of warmth and a fluttering sensation deep in your stomach. Your heart and brain seemed to engage in a silent battle, each demanding you attention with conflicting emotions.

The warmth of the kiss sent a cascade of conflicting signals through you. On one hand, there was the undeniable thrill of being kissed by someone you had secretly admired for so long. His lips, warm and tender, pressed against yours, creating a sensory overload that your heart eagerly embraced.

But then your brain, the logical part of you, fought back with a barrage of questions and concerns. This was the same person who had, just moments ago, been hidden behind the Ghostface mask, the person who had orchestrated nights of terror that ended in tragedy. The internal struggle intensified, causing a whirlwind of emotions that left you momentarily disoriented.

Yet, despite the internal conflict, the kiss itself was undeniably magnetic. Heeseung's gentle caresses and the way he held you close seemed to overpower the rational part of your mind. The butterflies in your stomach danced, and for that brief moment, the chaos within you was silenced by the intoxicating allure of the kiss.

As Heeseung deepened the kiss, while his hands caressed your waist, your heart won the internal battle, and you reciprocated the kiss with fervor. Your thoughts became a distant murmur, and you surrendered to the swirling emotions, letting the warmth and intimacy of the moment envelop you.  

Heeseung smirked in the midst of the passionate embrace, his hands wrapped around you, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. Your lips met in a fervent dance, an intimate tango that seemed to defy the boundaries of time and reason. You felt the warmth of his touch, the gentle caress of his fingers on your hips, and the magnetic pull that seemed to bind you two together.

With a newfound boldness, you tightened your grip on Heeseung's shirt, fingers clinging to the fabric as if grounding yourself in the intensity of the moment. The rhythmic dance of your lips became a symphony of shared longing, and you found yourself unable to resist exploring further.

Slipping your hands up from his shirt to his cheeks, you savored the sensation of his skin beneath your fingertips. The kiss grew more passionate, and in an unspoken exchange, you let your fingers trace the contours of his face, memorizing the details that had long been masked by the ominous masks.

Your hands continued their journey, winding through Heeseung's hair. The once neatly styled locks now fell victim to your eager touch, tousled and disheveled by your exploring fingers. His hair, soft and slightly damp from a shower, felt soft beneath your touch.

As you pulled back from the kiss, you found yourself breathless, your chest rising and falling with the intensity of the shared moment. Yet, when you gazed into Heeseung's eyes, you discovered a hunger, an unquenchable longing that mirrored your own conflicted emotions.

Heeseung, with his hair tousled from the passionate exchange, stared at you with a mixture of love and obsession. His puffy, red lips, moistened by the flick of his tongue, spoke volumes of the desire that lingered between you two. The air was charged with tension as he chased after your lips. His eyes, dark with desire, locked onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Undeterred by your withdrawal, Heeseung redirected his attention, placing lingering kisses along your jawline and down to your neck. His actions were filled with a possessive urgency, a declaration of the emotions that simmered beneath the surface. However, a low growl escaped him when you, using your grip on his tousled hair, pulled him back.

With a pout that accentuated the desire in his eyes, Heeseung looked up at you. His hands, now caressing up and down your sides, ventured down to your hips, fingers tracing the curves with an almost reverent touch. The room seemed to pulse with the ebb and flow of your desires, a dance of conflicting emotions and unspoken promises.

"Heeseung, wait... what about my mom? And my brother? They are, for sure, worried now," you voiced your concerns, turning away to confront the reality that lingered beyond the stolen moments of passion. Heeseung, undeterred, gently made you face him again with his right hand, the left continuing its tender exploration of your hip.

"Don't worry, Princess. It's all taken care of," Heeseung reassured, his voice a soothing melody that wrapped around you. Before you could decipher the cryptic assurance, Heeseung seized the moment, pulling you down for another kiss. The words that lingered on the tip of your tongue dissolved into the sweet oblivion of the kiss. Heeseung's actions spoke louder than any explanation he could provide, and you found yourself willingly surrendering to the enchantment of the moment.

Lost in the depths of the kiss, Heeseung tilted his head, deepening the connection between you. The world outside faded away, leaving only the echo of their entwined breaths and the lingering taste of a love that defied logic and reason. As the seconds slipped away, your concerns were momentarily silenced, replaced by the intoxicating allure of a passion that seemed to have been waiting for this moment to ignite.

As Heeseung held you in his lap, a surge of gratitude and contentment washed over him. He couldn't help but feel fortunate to have you, the only woman he had ever wanted, nestled in the cocoon of his arms. Your warmth against him felt like a cherished promise of a future you would share together.

The room around you seemed to fade away as Heeseung reveled in the moment. The soft rhythm of your breathing created a gentle melody, an unspoken connection that echoed the depth of your growing bond. He gently traced patterns on your back, savoring the feeling of your closeness, as if committing every nuance of the experience to memory.

In that intimate embrace, Heeseung couldn't imagine anything more perfect. You was his, and he was yours—bound together by an unbreakable thread that wove through the fabric of the shared existence. As he pressed a tender kiss to the crown of your head, he whispered words that echoed the sincerity of his heart, "Forever and ever, my love."

END OF PART 1

Masterlist:

Part 2 & Part 3

[kigieri]

Comfort

The Danny Ric Series🍯🦡

Daniel Ricciardo × Reader

Daniel returns home, after his last race, one last trip back to the factory and the announcement. Now they were alone, with their thoughts and each other.

A/N: Welcome! I hope you enjoy The Danny Ric Series. It is dedicated to the wonderful man that brought so much joy to Formula One and its fans.

This story on AO3.

Her head had been filled with static since Daniel had called her. There had been talks about his contract the last few races, but neither he nor she thought VCARB would drop him. She could only imagine how he must feel. The time after Mclaren had dropped him was branded into her mind. He had gotten over it slowly and his next contract had come before he could completely work through it. He had still been bitter, but getting back into a car had helped greatly. She hoped it would be better this time.

His plane had touched down hours ago. She had tidied the house and chucked most of the random pieces of memorabilia that had lain around the house into the attic. There wasn't much to begin with, a few caps and a mug or two in the cupboard, it was not really their style of decoration. His trophy case, however, had been polished and she had made sure that there was space on the wall for his last helmet.

There was a design for Austin he would never get to flaunt. He had talked to her about the race, that he was excited to have her there since she hadn't been to many this year. Now they'd have to find something else to occupy their weekends. Even though she was convinced it wouldn't take him long until he was racing again. In whatever capacity would offer itself up.

Chili stood on the stove and the table was set. Even though she would have enjoyed to simply cuddle up with him on the couch she knew he'd need a bit more than that. She had gone through every nervous habit she had before he arrived, from picking at her nails to making sure all the books on the bookshelf were standing flush to the wall.

When she heard keys in the lock she turned around to look at the door. Her hand up at her mouth once more. Daniel looked exhausted, the race, one last trip back to the factory, the announcement and the flight home had not done him any good. He turned around for a moment, waving goodbye to the driver that had brought him here. When he turned back his eyes landed on her.

His face fell, the neutral face he had put on replaced by desperation and betrayal. She walked over to him as he took off his bag, laying it on the ground. Her hands found his face and she turned it towards herself, stretching slightly to catch his lips in a kiss.

"It's good to have you home." He nodded, his breath warm again her face. "It's so good to be home." The first tears fell from his eyes and he quickly raised his hadn't to wipe them away. A sorrowful expression took over her face before she forced herself to smile. "I made dinner. How about we eat something? You probably haven't eaten anything sustaining since before the race." Her words became quite towards the end of the sentence, not wanting to start a conversation if he did not initiate it. He ignored the last part of the sentence, looking in the direction of the kitchen, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to look into it. "Chili?" He said hopefully, looking back into her eyes. "Of course. Only the best thing for my favourite man." Daniel took a deep, shuttering breath, he was overcome by adoration. The love she had for him and that she showed him so openly sometimes blindsighted him.

He was brought back from his thoughts when she stepped away and towards the kitchen. Disregarding his bags on the floor he followed her. She was maneuvering a big pot onto the table when she came back into his field of vision. It was steaming and smelled divine. Daniel stepped over to her chair and pulled it out for her. The look she regarded him with was slightly surprised but she sat down nonetheless. "Such chivalry in our own home." The Aussie sat down on his own chair before answering. "You deserve it." The smile he got in reply was worth everything to him.

They both filled their plates and began to eat. She started a light conversation, letting him in on the few things he had missed in his short time away. Afterwards she stood up and took their plates, disregarding Daniel's protest and telling him to relax. She filled the sink with water, put the dirty dishes inside and put the pot back on the counter, so the leftover could cool down.

Before returning to the table she crouched down infront of the little freezer underneath the fridge. She took out a tub of ice cream and filled two desert bowls with it, bringing them over after tidying up once more. Daniel had got lost in his thought's while watching her but accepted to offered desert, there was no more diet he had to follow.

"Should we go to the living room?" Her voice cut through the silence. He nodded, still a bit lost in his head. She squeezed his shoulder while walking past him and he got up to follow her. They sat next to each other, leaning into each other and silently eating their ice cream. After having scrapped the bottom a few more times than necessary she laid it on the living room table before turning to Daniel. He swallowed and continued to eat his ice cream which was mostly molten at this point.

She laid her head on his shoulder, simply waiting for him and after a bit more time had passed he too abandoned his bowl. They sat in silence, she began to draw invisible shapes on his thigh before switching to holding his hand and interwining their fingers.

"How do you feel about it?" Her words interrupted the quiet. He took a deep breath. "Like I'm going to puke." His words were between reflective humour and an honest confession. She hummed in response, lifting their hands to her mouth and kissing the back of his. Daniel followed her movements with his eyes. He let out a breath before continuing. "Not a fucking word. I mean yes, the writing was on the wall but still, not a word before the race. Only afterwards, one last goodbye from the team and that's it." His voice was aggravated, but there was a deep hollowness underlying his words. Disbelieve still had its grasp on him.

She turned her head to look at him. "You said Laurent told you." Daniel nodded. "He got the balls to tell me himself. And yes, they got the data and all these reasons but still-" He stopped himself from continuing, biting his lip. She squeezed his hand. "You didn't think they'd drop you like that." He nodded once more, his eyes were glossy once more. "I dont think anyone did, RedBull might be ruthless, but this was a blunder even for them. They're going to get ripped apart for it, the press already started, not including the fans." His eyes had drifted of, he was no longer looking at her, his gaze had found a point somewhere next to her head. "It won't help me..." She sat up and turned her body towards him. "Not on the surface, it won't give you back your seat, but it is important." Daniels gaze returned to her, looking slightly questioning.

"It shows that people value you, on track and off it. It might not give you your seat back, but it'll help with negotioations and other series." She could feel his hand shacking lightly and stretched over to take the other one into hands as well. "It also just shows that you are so incredibly loved. The fans adore you, they're creating tribute after tribute for you. The others have all posted something or texted you, haven't they? And you've got the press on your side. They're talking about unfair treatment and they're right! You didn't deserve that and we'll get you justice. One way or another."

Her leg pushed against his, initiating as much contact between them as possible while still being able to look at each other. "Your job right now is to ignore them all. Pretend to not give a fuck even if you do." He still looked at her without answering. "You're going to live your best life and Blake is going to try to get you one of the seats left for next year. If that doesn't happen? Indy will take you with open arms, as will any other racing series. Is that where you want to be? No. Are going to be happy there? Probably. But this fucking shit in Formula One is ripping you apart and I have spend enough time looking on from the sidelines! You had an incredible career, season after season you were one of the 20 best drivers in the world. I am so fucking proud of you!" There were tears gathering in Daniels eyes. If from sorrow or because of her words, she did not know, but she hoped it was the latter. "You're going to show them that their games may affect, but not destroy you." She leaned over and kissed him lightly. "There is so much here for you." A sweep of her hand motioned to their surroundings. "And the world has so much to offer." She took his hands again, lifting them to her mouth and kissed the back of each of them. "We're so young, there is so much left to do for us together." A slight smile found its way on Daniels face. They had talked about marriage and children, but Daniel had wished to be more present for both. Even if it wasn't by his own choice, maybe now was the time.

He swallowed. "Thank you. I, uhm... needed that. Real bad. I just can't think about not sitting in that car again yet." She nodded her head, smiling pained and her eyes became glossy too. "I can only imagine that. But we're going to try our best and you have shown that you're not at the end of your career. They'll take it or leave it, but we're not going to wait for them okay? You're not going to wait for them." Daniel looked at her, her eyes where sincere and she was almost pleading. "I can't... I can't promise that." She let her head hang for just a moment and then looked back up, she opened her mouth to answer but he shook his head. "I'll try. You're right, there is so much here for me and us." He freed one of his hands, touching her belly with his knuckle. "I'm going to enjoy whatever comes next. It's just going to take a hell of a lot of time and tears." A hesitant smile spread over her face. "Well, I can work with that." The laughter she let out was watery.

She looked over at the clock on the wall, it was quite late. Daniel had been exhausted when he came here and dinner had been comforting but long and this emotional exchange may have been what he needed, even if it confronted him with things hed rather forget, but now he was dead on his feet. She nodded in the direction of the stairs. "There is a comfortable bed waiting for you and tomorrow there are quite a few dirtbikes that need testing. Otherwise we wont know if they're still running right." They stood up. This time Daniel took the dishes to the kitchen. When he returned she had slung his bag over her shoulder, his suitcase stood next to the door, to be ignored until morning. She held his helmet in her hands, having opened the bag it was in. She stroked over the material before tightening the bag once more and placing it on their shoe rag.

She smiled at him, warm and beautiful. He walked over to her, encircling her waist with his arms and pulling her against his chest. He buried his nose in her hair, breathing in a few times, feeling her breath against his own chest. She hugged him back, grabbing his shirt in the back to pull him closer. "I love you." She smiled against his chest. "I love you too."

@kigieri 2024. All rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate or repost any of my work.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

I never really share anything personal on here because I'm a pretty private person, but there's something so profound about getting passed down my Grandpa's old camera collection.

Like what do you mean he took pictures of my Grandma with them 30+ years ago? That the A-1 Canon that's now in my room was the camera that took my parents' wedding photos? I stuck a roll of film into the same place he did? The thought of him loving photography as much as I do is the most tear-jerking emotion I've ever experienced even if we're not that close.

I just got the A-1 Canon working again after upwards of 20 years of being unused and sitting in a cupboard. Hearing the shutter go off as I took a picture of my dog was something special, and I don't even think I can describe it in a way that makes sense. It was like I was holding my own family history in my hands.

I was genuinely surprised it was in such good condition in the first place - I barely had to do anything other than look over it to make sure nothing was broken and mess with a few areas of concern. My grandpa kept his A-1 in immaculate condition despite his pretty bad health; the same with his other cameras as well.

As much as I want to keep them all in a glass case and have them stay perfect, I can't imagine not using them the same way he did. Of course, up until I have to retire them for my own kids to use one day in just as pristine a state.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

hi!! I have a request, if it hasn't already been taken, for kinktober! Maybe a Feanor x AFAB reader and age difference/first time?? I was thinking that maybe she's his apprentice in the forge and though he didn't like her at first, he grows a liking to her. However, he feels a little guilty due to her being the same age as Maedhros (I'll let you decide what to do with Nerdanel 😅). Maybe they're working really late night and he finally snaps? Anyways, thank you!! Your writing is so awesome and I can't wait to read all your kinktober fics!! ❤️

I hope you like this!

"Arrangement"

Pairing: Fëanáro x Fem (18+ AFAB) reader

Themes: SMUT/NSFT

Warnings: Kissing | Age difference | Nipple Play | First time | Oral sex | Masturbation | Penetrative sex | Open/Poly marriage

Wordcount: 3.8K

Summary: After an outburst, Fëanáro makes a stunning confession while the two of you are alone in the forge.

Minors DNI | 18+

Fëanáro stood right behind you, his arms on his hips. “Take care when bending the prongs, y/n,” he cautioned sternly. “Gold so pure can twist and break very easily.”

���Of course, my lord,” you replied. Your attention never left the ring resting in its stand, nor did your hands shake while you bent each prong, slowly and carefully, over a flawless green emerald. Still, it proved to be a most daunting task. The gold was still warm and quite malleable, you had never crafted anything this fine before, and Fëanáro insisted on peering over your shoulder. That unnerved you far more than even the precious object taking shape beneath your hands. The firstborn son of Finwë never seemed to think highly of you or your skills as an apprentice smith. He never fully revealed the extent of his dislike of you, but you still saw it in his less-than-pleased eyes, and you heard it in the harsh bite in his voice. Perhaps, by doing well with this new craft, you would be able to please him for once.

The ring was now complete. Fëanáro circled around you, picked it up as gently as he would a delicate leaf, and held it to a nearby lamp, turning it this way and that within the light. His body was stiff, as it always was whenever he was around you. Nevertheless, he regarded the ring intently. As of this moment, he could perceive no discernible flaw.

“This will do,” he murmured, placing the ring upon a smooth marble slab resting on the workbench. The gold will cool soon. Then it would be presented to the one who desired it made, a noblewoman who wished to offer it as a courtship gift. “You may put away your tools and go home now, y/n.”

A sliver praise was better than no praise, especially from an elf as skilled as he. “Thank you, my lord,” you said, rising.

The ritual of setting the forge to rights was second nature to you now. Tools were returned to their proper places in shelves and drawers and racks. Your belt and gloves you hung on hooks driven into the wall, and your apron also. Fëanáro saw to the dousing of the furnace fire while you occupied yourself with dusting the workbenches, closing the shutters, and sweeping the floor. No one besides him or those equally skilled at the task were allowed to do so.

“Everything is as it should be,” you remarked after placing the broom in its little cupboard. The forge was now as neat and clean as it could be, but perhaps there was something you did not think of doing. “Is there aught else for me to do?”

Fëanáro did not turn to face you. He kept facing the furnace instead. “None, y/n,” he replied curtly. “You may leave now. In fact, I insist that you do.”

His tone gave you pause. “Have I displeased you, my lord?” You asked, glancing back over your shoulder. The ring gleamed upon the marble slab, its jewel burning like green fire. “Is the ring actually not to your liking?”

The elf’s back stiffened. “Please, leave.”

“My lord,” you said, stepping toward him, “I…”

“Get out!” Fëanáro roared, frightening you into taking a step back.

“Of course, my lord,” you mumble and turn in your haste to leave. “My pardons, my lord. I did not mean to anger you so.”

The doors seemed so far away, even when all it took was a few quick strides to reach them. Yet reach for them you did, your fingers fumbling with the heavy doorknobs and the heavier doors. They were always left this way for Fëanáro did not care for distractions, except for those presented by his wife or sons. The others were allowed entry only if they came on a matter of importance. If not, they were sent away.

So intent were you on trying to pull them open that you did not hear footsteps coming toward you, nor did you see the tall shadow falling across heavy oak adorned with silver and gold. A large hand fell over your hand, hindering you from unlocking the doors.

“Forgive me for shouting,” Fëanáro said. He was so close you could feel his breath against your hair. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

Fëanáro asking for forgiveness from anyone who was not his wife, his children, or even his father, was a rare thing. You swallowed and held onto your courage. You needed it for what you were about to say next.

“Why are you always displeased with me, my lord?” you inquired. The hand over yours trembled, and then it fell away. You turned around and looked up at your teacher. “Am I not good enough to serve as your apprentice?”

”You are worthy,” Fëanáro returned. His face was a mask; it gave nothing away. “You may be too spirited for your own good, but you have skill. I can see it in the ring you just made.”

“Is that a bad thing, my lord,” you said, your curiosity piqued, “being too spirited?”

“It can be, when you are in the forge.” Fëanáro reached out and lifted your braid. His fingers brushed over the silk ribbon adorning your hair. “There are many dangers present in places such as this y/n, dangers novices such as yourself do not easily see. It can blind you to them, and lead you to harm. It can also stop you from being all you could truly be.”

“Then why did you shout at me?”

“I needed you to leave. I still need you to leave. Please do not ask me to tell you why.”

He turned sharply on his heel and walked away, dimming the lamps while he did so. And, despite his plea—despite being gratified that you did not fail as an apprentice—you followed him. You needed to know why he touched your hair the way he did and why he needed you to be gone. Perhaps it was unwise to go after him in this fashion, but you believed you had no other choice.

“You must tell me, my lord,” you implored, trying to keep up with him. “Please tell me. Perhaps I can help you.”

“I cannot,” Fëanáro told you. He walked to the back of the forge, where a chamber made just for him lay. It was where he devised his newest creation, or where he went when he desired a few moments to rest and free himself from the weariness of his labors before returning to his family. “Please, y/n. I cannot tell you.”

“I am sorry, my lord,” you began, “but if you could just tell me what it is that is troubling you, perhaps I can—”

Fëanáro gave you no time to finish speaking. He muttered an oath, whirled around, gathered you into his arms, and kissed you. His kiss was full of fire and hunger, and it was so powerful it left you lightheaded and dizzy.

“This is why I shouted at you.” Fëanáro stepped back, his gray eyes now uncommonly dark. “This is why I wanted you to leave. Now do you understand, y/n?”

His confession stunned you. “You are already wed!” you exclaimed, horrified by what happened. If word reached the others, your reputation and his would be ruined. “You have a wife, my lord, and children!”

“Yes,” Fëanáro said. “My children. You are of an age as Nelyafinwë. So young.” 

“And your wife?” You demanded. “What of Lady Nerdanel? She will not take kindly to an intruder upon her marriage.”

“Do not fear my lady’s wrath.” Fëanáro smiled. It was the same arrogant, satisfied smile he wore whenever he knew something was in his favor. “For it was she who perceived my desire for you long before I did so myself. She will bear you no ill will. In fact, my lady asks, no, insists, that I invite you to join us, should you wish to do so, that is. She desires you also.”

You shook your head, unwilling to believe a word. “How do I know you are not uttering falsehoods, my lord? Others have done the same to convince a reluctant companion to share their bed.”

“I can show you, if that is what you wish.” Fëanáro extended his hand, his smile never leaving his lips. Many a maiden, and more than a few lords, deemed his smile a powerful weapon. Only a rare few could resist the spell it laid upon others. “Take my hand and open your thoughts to me, y/n. You will see that I am not uttering falsehoods.”

You closed your eyes and did as you were bid, your curiosity overcoming your fear. Fëanáro’s hand was large and warm, and still smooth despite a long life of crafting and wielding heavy tools. It did not tremble this time; it was unwavering instead. 

Memories that were not your own rushed at you like a flood. You breathed deeply and remembered your teachings. You sought the memories you were meant to see: Fëanáro standing in the shadows, watching you contend with molten iron while jesting with another elf. He was visibly exasperated by your conduct, but he was also afraid for your safety.  Fëanáro appeared again, this time smiling to himself as he watched you present Tyelkormo with a blunted dagger crafted to fit an elfling’s hands, and then he laughed quietly when you chased Tyelkormo around the forge in a desperate attempt to stop him from using it on an unsuspecting elf. Fëanáro then appeared a third time. In this memory, his eyes followed your every step like a lover’s would.

“You yearn for y/n, my love,” Nerdanel said in the vision that appeared after the others. She and her husband were alone, breaking their fast on porridge and honey and little fish roasted to crackling. Bowls of apples and pears and berries stood amidst them. Every other aspect of the chamber was shrouded in swirling shadows. “I cannot fault you for that, truly. Y/n is quite skilled, and she certainly draws the eye. Have you spoken to her?”

 “I have not,” Fëanáro sputtered, much to his wife’s amusement. He made no attempt to conceal his feelings; he knew Nerdanel would be insulted if he did. “I will not betray you, my love. I will not approach another for companionship.”

“What if I were to give you my blessing? Will you approach y/n then?”

“Why would you even suggest such a notion?”

“Because I can,” Nerdanel declared, beaming and spreading her fair hands. “And because, much like you, I find myself desiring your apprentice also. Perhaps we can all come to an arrangement of our liking.”

“But she is so young,” Fëanáro confessed. Nerdanel’s hearty consent and willingness to partake pleased him in a way he could not describe, but he still hesitated. Your young years had to be considered. “Y/n is the same age as Nelyo. You and I could very well be her firsts. The prospect of bedding you and I together may frighten her.”

“That is indeed true,” Nerdanel agreed. She steepled her fingers beneath her chin and lost herself in thought. After a while, she spoke again. “Here is what I propose you do.”

Suddenly, the memory of husband and wife talking and conspiring disappeared like a mist burning away in the sun. Fëanáro shrouded his thoughts and brought you back to the here and now. “Do you believe me now, y/n?”

“Yes.” There was no denying the matter; Fëanáro was indeed speaking the truth. “But to lay with you and her both…I do not know how I could even think of such a thing, my lord.”

“I understand,” Fëanáro said, his hand still in yours. “Which is why my lady proposed you and I become… better acquainted with each other first. Later, you can share her bed. And of course, the both of us after that.”

“I see.” You flushed from cheek to chest when Fëanáro knitted his fingers around yours and drew you closer. “But if this is what you seek, and your lady consents to us laying together, why did you try to chase me away before?”

“You are of an age as Nelyo, y/n,” Fëanáro reminded you. He reached out and caressed your hair, your cheek. Your throat went dry when he ran his thumb across your lips. “You are young, despite having already come of age. You should be with those your age, instead of cleaving to one as long-lived as me. It did not feel right.”

You looked up at him through your lashes. The sight of it made his breath hitch. “And what if I say yes, my lord? What then?”

Fëanáro flashed a wicked grin. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Then you will be given no cause to repine. Pray what is your decision, my lady?”

You looked around his arm. The door to his chamber was behind him. If you said yes, if you agreed to what was suggested, there would be no turning back. Still, the thought of having an elf as skilled as Fëanáro, and later, his wife, bedding you, proved to be too tempting to resist in the end.

“My answer is yes, my lord,” you said at length.

Fëanáro turned around and pushed open the door to his chamber. “Have you been intimate with another elf in any fashion?”

“Kisses, my lord,” you said truthfully and walked in after him. His chamber was simple yet elegantly adorned. Besides a soft and inviting bed, there was a hearth at the other end with a cheerful fire already laid. A chair had been placed before it, and a little table beside it. Cups and golden pitchers rested on top of it. A tapestry hung on one wall, uncommonly ornate and richly embellished. It must have been the work of Lady Miriel, no doubt, before she perished. “And an embrace or two. Nothing more than that.” 

Fëanáro led you to the edge of the bed. “Sit down, y/n, and make yourself more at ease. Would you like some wine to drink? Or Miruvórë, perhaps?”

“Miruvórë, my lord,” you said, bending down to remove your boots. It felt wonderful to be rid of them, even for a little while. “I do not care much for wine.”

Fëanáro nodded and crossed over to the table. “Then I shall serve you.”

The cup pressed into your hand was hewn out of crimson crystal and cold to the touch. The libation it held was cold also, and a pale, fragrant gold. You felt refreshed after the first sip alone.

“I still cannot believe it,” you said, nursing your cup. Fëanáro sat beside you, closer than he would have done before. His thigh brushed against yours. It sent a welcome shiver up your spine. “The renowned prince Fëanáro and his wife desire me for a shared companion. They want me to share their bed. The others would be amazed if they heard.”

“But they cannot hear,” Fëanáro said. He drained his cup in three quick swallows and set it down by his feet. “There are others who have arrangements like what my lady proposed, but they are not spoken of often. Not everyone understands.”

“Of course,” you drained your cup and set it down. Your stomach was a roil. Fëanáro would take you into his arms soon. Already, you could feel his eyes on you. “How do we begin, my lord?”

“Like this.” Fëanáro tilted your chin toward him, compelling you to look at him. Then he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to yours.

His kisses were unlike the others you had before. They were heated and commanding, and far from the clumsy, hesitant kisses you were used to. Fëanáro did not restrain himself either. He held you to him, sliding his arm around your waist and growling triumphantly when you clutched desperately at the collar of his tunic and returned his kiss with equal fire. His free hand wandered. It loosened the ribbon in your hair and carded through the locks that spilled free. It moved lower still, to loosen the lace of your tunic. Goosprickles rose all over your limbs when linen fell away and that same nimble hand came to rest over your breast.

“Has anyone touched you like this before?” Fëanáro husked. He pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it began to throb. Then he dipped his head to taste.

“No, my lord,” you panted, throwing your head back when teeth bruised your tender skin. Fëanáro pulled at one nipple and then the other, lightly at first and then more insistently, before his lips and tongue took a turn. Each sensation that followed was wholly new, and each of them made you feel even more warm, feverish, and lustful than before. “Not like this.”

“Just so.”

Fëanáro straightened. He helped you out of your tunic and threw it to the floor. He moved to the floor himself, slipping off the bed and settling on his knees between your spread legs. He set himself to the task of undoing the belt and clasps going down your breeches, and when he asked you to lift your hips, you did so, watching as the last of your clothes were disposed of without ceremony. Now you sat before him, completely exposed and unable to discern what he would do next. The answer became plain when he lowered his head to the apex between your thighs. 

“Is this what you imagined doing to me, my lord?” You teased, bolder than even before. You brushed your hand over his hair, carefully loosening ribbons and braids. Fëanáro quivered when the tips of your fingers grazed over his scalp. “Or do you imagine your lady doing this to me while you watched?”

Fëanáro grunted and ran the flat of his tongue against your slit, again and again. Your body shook. Inflamed, you took your words even further.

“Or perhaps you wish to do more than just watch.” Never had you been this brazen before. Then again, never had you been with a companion like Fëanáro before. You made the most of it. You knew you had to. You did not know how long your arrangement with him and his lady would last. “Is that it, my lord? Do you wish to do more than just watch while Nerdanel and I cleave to each other?”

Fëanáro moaned softly. He gripped your hip to steady you, and he moved his other hand lower to free himself from the confines of his raiment. Soon, he was fisting his cock.

“My lady was right to counsel me to approach you.” Fëanáro reluctantly ceased what he was doing and rose. “And now I must ask you to move further up and lay on your back. There is more I crave to do to you, y/n.”  

The hush that briefly settled over the room was broken with the rustling of silk and linen and leather. Fëanáro undressed himself, his eyes never leaving yours. You drank in every line that met your gaze, overwhelmed by the thought that every aspect of his would be yours caress however you wished. When you finally moved further up the bed, Fëanáro joined you and moved up with you. When he lowered his head, you welcomed him with open arms. His kisses were languid this time, and all the sweeter. He propped himself on his elbow and stayed still while you ran your hands through his hair, down his chest, and over his thighs. Every inch of him you discovered was flawless. It was as if he was hewn by the skilled hands of the finest cratfsman.

“I must thank your lady when I am with her,” you whispered. “Only through her was all of this made possible.”

“I will gladly arrange a meeting.” Fëanáro smiled and brushed his lips over yours. He slipped his hand around your back to raise your hips. It encouraged you to loop your arms around his broad shoulders and spread your legs for him. “For now, let me think of just you and me.”

He pressed the tip of his length against your entrance, teasing you with gentle, shallow thrusts. It felt so good, but you knew there would be so much more. Fëanáro then pushed deeper and deeper, sinking his shaft further and further within the velvety confines of your body. When he breached you fully and sank home, pain lanced through you like a knife. Fëanáro went still when you whined, and he whispered words of praise to soothe you.

“Does it feel good?” He finally said, his voice full of concern. “Should I continue?”

“Yes, my lord,” you breathed. There was so much of him; you did not comprehend how big truly was until now, or how wonderful he felt. “Go on. Please.”

No more words were said. They were, in your opinion, no longer needed. Fëanáro chased his release while taking you to yours. He drove into you with wild abandon, making you gasp every time he ground his hips against the insides of your thighs. The feel of your nails marring his body and the sounds of your pleasure ringing around the once peaceful room made him forget all sense of himself.

“Oh, sweetling!” Fëanáro cried, unable to hold back any longer. "Oh, by the Valar.”

He did not stop, not even as he came and emptied himself of his spend. He took you over the peak and tumbled you over the edge, calling out your name as your own climax crashed over you. And it was your name that he called out. Just yours. Oh, there would be other occasions when your name and his lady’s would leave his lips, but for now, yours was all he uttered. You reared up, kissing him deeply even while he fucked you through your orgasm. Your nails dug into his flesh, marring him. Then everything went still, and he finally stopped moving.

The hearth at the other end was the first to become clear when you opened your eyes, then the room and the bed, and then Fëanáro himself. His chest was still heaving, and his lustrous dark hair had fallen all around him in a beautifully tousled mess. Its ends tickled you when it brushed against your torso.

“I am crushing you,” he said, and rolled off you. When he settled comfortably on his back, he held out his arm. It was an invitation for you to rest against him. “Now tell me, y/n. Do you still wish to continue with the arrangement my lady devised?”

“I do, my lord, very much so.” You inched closer and settled against the crook of his arm. A dreamy sigh parted your lips when Fëanáro moved onto his side, threw his arms around you, and kissed your brow. “I will gladly continue with the arrangement.”

“That is good then,” he said. “Rest for now. I will help you bathe and clean yourself afterward.”

[cobaltsoulsearcher]

Inflorescence

The first thing any Ashari druid learns is how to make a flower bloom. It’s a holiday, almost, the day when children learn to make a bud split open. Grandparents smile and toddlers stuff their mouths with petals. Parents look forward to off-season bouquets, teens to the teasing exchange of tulips and daisies from friends and classmates and crushes. There are picnics at graveyards, and scavenger hunts for bulbs hidden for this exact occasion. It’s not just druids who learn, either; if a Zephrahn or Pyrahn or Terrahn or Vesrahn can cast one spell, it is this one. 

Orym is not Ashari by blood; his mother settled in Zephrah, his father wandered on. But he is Ashari, and nothing connects him more to his culture and his people than pulling summer from dew-coated capsules or smiling in time with a sudden blossom. He spreads his fingers as the petals of a pansy unfurl, and sprinkles them onto his mother’s baking; he harvests sunflowers to toast on warm days, no matter the month. His mother can’t cast the spell, but she loved flowers, loves watching him birth color and petals and beauty.

He pulled up their irises from the box beneath his window after Will died. They were half-browned, lackluster; he blessed them back to bloom. Only the best for his husband. Only the best to be buried with his father, only the best to be salted with his grief. He finds a packet of seeds Derrig had given them for housewarming in the cupboard; he brings them to inflorescence in the time it takes his watering eyes to form tears. 

The streets feel empty that night, and it’s not just because so many have huddled in their homes, drawing relatives close in fear. All the flowers have been shuttered, gently closed. It feels as if the entire city is holding its breath in reverence to those they have lost. Zephrah knows how to bloom, and Zephrah knows how to grieve. 

He moves back in with his mother. A bouquet is waiting to welcome him home, white petals already beginning to droop and fall. Snowdrops. He looks out the window, towards the manor where he has reported for duty day after day, time after time, and it’s all he can do to stop from crying again. 

The flowers in Alma’s garden don’t open until spring, that year. They feel so young and soft against his fingers, but he doesn’t pick them, and when they close and fall, he returns them to bloom.

My second piece for the weekly version of @mysticsparklewings's obscutober.

[phoenixcatch7]

Random security breach headcanons/ideas because I've been briefly but violently sucked in:

Sun and moon are the same person, but the infection code created a fracture/barrier, potentially taking the form of a firewall that one or both erected to try and contain the infection to 'just' moon.

Mimic said it'd been down there for 'ages' which couldn't have been longer than the pizza plex, considering the scooper and the rubble of the og location. I imagine it arrived following the scent of all the remnant being used and got trapped, probably by vanny given her initial origin as some sort of cyber security/web developer.

Leading into that, if the mimic tried to break in during/after construction, it would have been really cool if moon spotted and fought it, maybe even leading to whatever either infected moon or lost the DA the power core upgrade. Possibly damaged it!

I theorise that the power core/upgrade worked by absorbing the remnant that the children of the daycare generated. It doesn't have to be negative emotion, and it doesn't have to be killed for! That's much more powerful, yes, but it's not the only way, and it could have been how sun and moon were able to work around the clock without issue where the others couldn't.

And either it was being repaired or replaced so Gregory could give it to freddy. The fact that it's already preloaded into the machine could have meant that it was set to be put back into sun/moon very, very soon. Unfortunately for them, Gregory got there first by the skin of his teeth. I'm sure it'd have been a huge help during what followed...

Speaking of upgrades, all the (humanoid) animatronics have one! So, what could Bonnie's have been? Or Freddies? Well, I suspect that Freddies was the chest cavity. It's unique to him, and he uses it as storage for 'birthday cakes'. It's big enough to fit a child. I believe that Bonnie's was montys leaping legs! Originally, the upgrade from monty was those legs before it was changed to the claws. But because monty kept the jumping ability, that's two abilities for one guy! But crocodiles aren't exactly known for their... Agility on land. Rabbits, however, certainly are. So I suspect that after Bonnie's attack, monty was upgraded and repainted along with his own original claws. It doesn't matter that he wasn't a band member originally, all of them have something.

Also, I doubt that Bonnie's green room was all the way up by bowling, away from everyone else. I think that room was set up similarly for whatever reason - interviews, one of those rent a costume rooms, maybe even a place for human actors that aren't the theatre staff, idk. Maybe Bonnie ran like, an online fitness program or w/e, like those barbie vlogs. No way bonnie was kept separately. Or it could just have been a room half built and then walled off as designs changed. Heck, the animatronics (or just bonnie) could have secretly found and used it themselves. The idea of bonnie and freddy using it for secret dates and make out sessions like a broom cupboard is funny, but then freddy would have found Bonnie.

And I suspect, with no proof, that moon had something to do with Bonnie's disappearance. Oh, monty dealt the blow, of course, but it would be interesting to think if moon was the one who wrapped Bonnie up in the carpet and dragged him through the vents to hide him. Idk. Maybe on vannys orders, maybe it was also panicking lol. But the staff (and freddy) either spotted or suspected something, and have been frosty and a bit neglectful to the DA ever since. Sun is extremely salty.

Because I do believe that the DA is hooked into the building in ways that the other animatronics aren't. In obvious and simple ways like the ceiling wire that moon uses to fly, or sun does whatever he did to lock down the daycare shutters (with 'banned' banners on the outside so he can clearly open them himself lol), the way sun apparently has some sensor or camera at the slide so he can bodily throw himself at Gregory should he try to enter again, the way moon can freaking track Gregory across the ENTIRE GOTDANG PIZZAPLEX in under five minutes in game, EVEN when he's in freddy, which no other animatronic can do! Even vanny skips right past Gregory in the pod outside the daycare!

With moon serving seemingly as a final line of security, being out and about during the hourly recharge, it'd make sense if the patrol/scout of the animatronic team was able to access the security feed like its human counterparts. Just like the watch, it can get it beamed into its head. And between that and the infrared eyes (the red light moon has), it's a perfect recipe for search and destroy, with Gregory as the target. His only real restriction is that under light, he is Sun, and sun must be in the daycare. It's all very interesting.

Every single animatronic is in on the 'kidnapping children to harvest remnant' thing. Because they all will try and kill you. Even the endos. The O-N-L-Y reason freddy wasn't right there alongside them was that he mysteriously collapsed on stage and had ill timed safety protocols engage. Those protocols saved Gregorys LIFE. I'm pretty sure those protocols are what produced eclipse, too. Completely unable to cause harm, almost delusionally secure in the safety of the plex. Under those protocols, I assume, freddy can't remember/speak of/acknowledge the child hunting thing. He must reassure any children or members of the public that such things are not happening, cannot happen, and Gregory fits that bill. He must be perfectly presentable, and the company must be perfectly innocent. There is absolutely no reason to exclude freddy of all people from the secondary task. I get the feeling that freddy coming to understand and oppose the whole situation is not supposed to happen XD. His body in ruin sure doesn't have the same problem. After all, they do get a bit quirky at night.

But seriously, each of them would fulfil a role in the team, working together as a unit. Moon the patrol/night shift, the mmm hive in the vents for whatever it's worth, roxy to see through walls and hear any disturbances to find them, chica and monty (/bonnie) to chase down, break through barriers and stunlock (they do manage that one pincer movement at the start of the game, though it fails lol. If chica had used her scream he would have been toast), and freddy as the team leader and... Transport and disposal. He did say he'd travelled that path to the afton room many times before. The scooper for gathering and storing remnant is just past that, after all. Like I don't know if was accidental design but that's an excellent team. Be better if there were projectiles but I don't know how they could have hidden that upgrade XD. I just KNOW they've caught some paparazzi, thieves or investigators before. Gregory would actually be that latter category!

Pretty sure that the entire plex is a front to gather as much remnant as possible to restore afton. Like, the main purpose. They're bringing this man back from practically sniffing the chest hair of death. He should be way more than both feet in the grave, but presumably he thinks remnant is going to fix the problem. Just keel over dude. It'd be doing himself a favour at this point, trapped in the torture he must be in.

Be cool (and sad) if freddy was the one to give Bonnie's star sunglasses to monty as a sort of acceptance to the band. If he was optimistic and trusting enough to not suspect monty, especially if he instead suspected the DA. Either that or management demanded monty wear the glasses, because if monty walked around wearing the sunglasses of his missing best friend/lover situation freddy would Not Be Friends with him like they are in canon, to put it lightly.

Tbh the idea that the DA and Bonnie had beef is unreasonably funny to me. Freddy would totally have picked up on it a bit through exposure. Or freddy has had several run ins with the DA, possibly after hours, possibly during parties in those rooms around the daycare. The fact that freddy warned us about the DA of all people (both halves!) - when he gave a glowing review of the dj spider who silently tried to rip us out of the bathrooms and squash us like a bug - is something to be concerned about lol.

Oh yeah, hc. The band members totally have a social life after hours, with free roaming once the doors are locked and the outside is sealed off. (freddy really should just have taken Gregory to the nearest fire exit.) I like to imagine they have exclusive parties in the arcade, where they can listen to uncensored music and throw it back like the kids teach them XD. I can't imagine sun joining but it's funny. They're all wayyyy too lifelike to not explore stuff like that. They've all canonically got annoying quirks that were definitely not programmed lol.

I wonder who writes their music? I doubt they are expected to be the ones to come up with it, they're just robots. They probably know the band really well! I bet there's some freddy voice miku style vocoder somewhere in the bowels of the building.

I'd LOVE to know wtf that moon haze is when he'd close. It's so weird and almost out of place. Moon and vanny are the same ones who get aura effects. That's gotta mean something, but what??

Like it's been a while since I brushed up on every tiny detail, but I still thought it was worth writing down. Any evidence against any of it? Alternate interpretations? Let me know!

[hypersonic04]

Gold Rush

hello everyone! I thought that as a last hurrah to the summertime, I'd write something inspired by it. this was kindly suggested by @mybrokenveins3000, and i am so obsessed with the whole concept. i hope you all enjoy, let me know what you think! love u!

word count: 1,429

Your skin begs to soak up every last ray of late-August sunshine. The flashing lights and movie stars feel far away now, a life that belongs to someone else, someone who cares about things that, in this life, have no value. He’s golden, flickering, light pouring from him as you sit beside him in the convertible. The wind tickles at your skin, your eyes glued to him sat beside you. Linen shirt, sunglasses, hair sea-salt-ruffled. His skin has been kissed by the sun since you arrived here all but two weeks ago. You tip your head back, try to commit every last cobblestone and blade of grass to memory. The Italian summer has owned your heart for a while, but the silver R laid flat to your chest is forever, sacred, for eternity.

His fingertips are hot on your sticky skin, the breeze welcome as he carefully turns the wheel. Physically, his eyes are fixed forward, but they’re glassy, dreamy, starry. He looks like something you’d have drawn when you were 15, a figment of your imagination. You wonder how many other people would’ve drawn the same thing - what must it be like to grow up that beautiful? The jealousy that dares to make itself know disappears in an instant, his chocolate gaze melting into yours.

“Are you happy?" He asks you. You nod, wordlessly, because words could never be enough.

"Are you?"

"Very." His gaze returns to the road, swallowing heavily, the sweetest of smiles on his face.

The car takes a left, rumbling up the hill that leads us to our treasure trove, our castle. White stone walls, shutter blinds, a peach tree curving over the balcony. It's silent as the engine shuts off, except for the distant sound of a bird call. Your skirt is soft on your legs as you jog up the stone steps, Ross following closely behind, as ever. His hands on your waist, lips on the shell of your ear, light breaths sending you dizzy,

"Ross," you mumble through giggles, unable to put the keys in the lock for his touches. His presence in a room could do that to you, though, red often flushing to your face at the sight of him.

"What, can I not kiss my fiance?" He smiles against your cheek, emphasis on the latter.

Your engagement remains a secret from the world, from prying eyes, from anyone, really. He'd popped the question three days ago, the silver band on your finger new and novel, the sight of it startling, almost.

You turn around in his hold, back pressed to the wood of the door, head tilted upwards to meet his affirmed smirk, a smugness to it as he gazes down at you.

"Fiance." You breathe out, chest sinking as you sigh. He nods, inching closer and closer to your pink lips until they're pressed together. Your hands hold his face, stubble gravelly under your hot touch, your breath stolen by his kiss. He nods at you with drowsy eyes as he pulls away, smiling. The air is balmy, the dusky sky almost a shade of rust now.

He slips the key out of your fingertips, unlocking the door as you rest against it. Walking you backwards into the house, his hands are on your hips and he's laughing at something you've said, something cocky, the kind of thing that fascinated him in the bar that one night. A loud laugh, the kind that gets stuck in the air, tangled around your ear, lingering in the pits of your stomach on the nights you lay awake in the dark. You want it to sit there forever.

He lets you leave him to get changed, begrudgingly. You can hear him opening and closing cupboard doors as you tie your hair up, slipping out of the linen skirt you'd been wearing. Your skin is tan as you look at yourself in the mirror, bra and shorts the only suitable attire for the sweltering evening heat. The bedroom windows are wide open, and you find yourself gazing out of them for a second. You can see the ripple of lights on water, hear distant conversation from a restaurant you'd sat in a few days ago, the greenery hanging over the window close enough for you to touch. It's still, a stark contrast to your everyday life. You wonder what would happen if you didn't go back.

The sound of the balcony doors opening steals you from your daydream. Padding across the wooden floor, back into the living room, you spot the bottle of red wine he's placed on the table outside, ashtray and deck of cards next to the glasses. A smile spreads across your face, spotting him through the arch of the kitchen, shirt off as he places slices of watermelon on a plate.

He glances at you, then glances at you again as you walk out onto the balcony. You lean against it with a glass of wine in hand, surprised when his fingers ghost up your spine. They're soft, warm, home.

"Thank you for pouring me a glass." You smile, maintaining his eye contact over the rim of the glass.

"You're very welcome, my love." He kisses your temple before taking a seat at the table, leaning back and lighting a cigarette. He takes a drag of it, and you watch as his cheeks hollow. It's inviting, bewitching almost, watching his eyes graze across the view from your balcony, hair falling perfectly, lungs inhaling.

You take your seat across from him, shuffling the cards. He watches as you do it, flicking some ash into the ashtray between you both. You deal them out as he tells you about how George had asked how the holiday was going, how long you were staying, nodding along as he talks.

The wine flows too easily, your cheeks red and glowing as you stare at him dreamily. There's a purity to it, an innocence, your eyes glazed over like a teenager with a crush.

"You're staring." He chuckles, eyebrows raised.

"What, can I not stare at my fiance?" You giggle as you mirror his earlier words, watching his face contort as he laughs. The air is bursting with love, the seams of your bubble threatening to burst as your laughter bounces around, your belly warm and mind fuzzy. "Let me have a drag." You cock your head to his cigarette and hold our your hand.

"You're not smoking a cigarette, y/n." he shakes his head with a laugh. "When have you ever smoked?"

"When I've had four glasses of Bordeaux." you giggle. The sound that escapes your lips sends him dizzy, tilting his head a little so he can see every inch of your face, warmed up by the glow of the living room light falling through the doorway. He wants to bottle this noise, this moment, this feeling.

He puts it out before you can attempt to steal it, standing up to look over the balcony. His back is broad, muscles evident as he rests his forearms on the railings, dark eyes contemplating the scenery around him. It's dark now, little caverns of light hidden in the landscape, evidence of life. Your arms snaking around his waist don't take him by surprise, a kiss pressed to the centre of his back as you rest your head against it. His skin is hot, smooth under your touch, still glazed with sunscreen and aloe moisturiser. Memories of you in fits of laughter the day before, him wincing as you lathered the cold gel onto his back, running around the house like children - you're grateful they exist, you hope they stay as vibrant as they are right now.

You can hear the strum of a guitar from a bar lower down the cliff, faint and gentle in your ears, but enough to know it's something familiar. Humming along to it, he turns around and takes your hands in his, swaying ever-so-gently. He's twinkling, sparkling under your touch, cheeks tinted pink and eyes sleepy. You're drunk on red wine, dancing with your fiance on a balcony in Italy - if only you could freeze time.

His hands move to your waist, smooth and soft under his calloused fingertips, lips pressed to yours, tongues intertwining like ivy, like the way you think your souls might be. He walks you backwards, back through the balcony doors, hitting the wall of the hallway before you can catch your breath. He pulls away, eyes so close to yours, and if you could jump into them, you would.

[vmsplus]

KITCHEN CABINET TYPES | VMS TRADE LINK

The cabinets largely depend on your preferences; some may look more traditional, while others still appear modern.

1. Shaker cabinet doors. These belong to the most common and popular cabinet doors with recessed panels and clean lines and offer tons of flexibility regarding style. Shaker cabinet doors are usually found in stock kitchen cabinet designs.

2. Flat panel. 

This is a cabinet door that has a single panel instead of a frame. It gives a sleek look to your kitchen, as only the panel shows at the cabinet front.

3. Inset door style. This style has the door flush within the cabinet instead of hinged outside the frame. 

The process of creating this style is intricate to ensure the door suits the box frame perfectly.

4. Raised panels. 

As the name implies, the front panel of the door is raised, giving a 3-dimensional look to the door. You can choose between a monochromatic finish and a 2-tone effect between the centre panel and the frame.

5. Glass shutters for the kitchen allow you to see through the cabinet door what you have on display inside. Glass gives a striking contrast when combined with other kitchen materials like wood or laminate, accentuating the elegance of your kitchen. 

These glass shutters are available in transparent and frosted finishes.

[the-red-thread-that-strangles]

Written for the 'cold' prompt

Where there should be a gun, only a butcher's knife waits for Akai.

Right.

They confiscated his weapons.

Oh well. Even declawed, he still has fangs. Just means he needs to get up close to get the kill.

Akai drops from his bed into a crouch. The knife's handle digs into his hand, unyielding, providing steady support in a hazy world.

He follows the edge of the bed, to where he can see light pass through the gap under the door. The sound of glass shattering, followed by a thud is what woke him, he's sure, but there's no footsteps, no shadow passing by. His intruder might be good.

But Akai knows he's better.

He sneaks up to the door, listening, waiting. There's faint breathing outside, too fast. Whoever it is, it's possible his attacker got caught up in the adrenaline rush. That should make it easier to surprise and dispatch them.

He takes cover behind the wall, and kicks the door open.

The living room lights blind him momentarily, too bright in the night. Akai blinks through the nausea, checks the windows he can see from his position - intact.

Good. He can still hear the breathing - irregular - but the sounds of the night remain distant, removed. He dashes to the other side of the door, surveilling the familiar living room outside.

As expected, all windows are shuttered, bolted shut from the inside. The intruder is trapped with him, then.

Ah, yes.

He's missed the hunt.

Though something seems off. He can't see them, but the source of noise doesn't appear to be moving. What are they waiting for? Data to download from his laptop? Poisoned gas to distribute in the room?

He can't smell anything strange, but beneath the scent of cigarette smoke and bourbon, it would be difficult to detect. He still puts a hand over his mouth, breathes as shallowly as he can manage.

Fine, fine. He'll go greet them already.

He sneaks around the too-comfortable sofa, takes cover behind his armchair, creeps up to the kitchen isle. Beyond its corner is the source of the noise, the source of another breath in his space.

He turns the corner, ready to dispatch the intruder-

-and barely manages to stop the knife in time. Stabs the ground next to an exposed neck.

There's a crumpled form on his floor in a sea of broken glass, blond hair covering their face.

Jodie?

No, that can't be.

Cold dread seizes his heart.

Jodie is dead.

His ears ring with the echo of a gunshot, drowning out all sounds but his own, stuttering heartbeat. It throbs in his head, too fast, too loud.

No. No. No.

Vertigo takes a hold of him, would have him join the figure on the floor.

The knife drops from his hands, clutters onto the floor uselessly. He grips the cupboard's corner, trying to maintain his balance. Doesn't quite manage it, and missteps.

A sharp pain in his foot forces him back to the present.

That's a problem for later.

Breathe. Assess.

The person in his kitchen groans, a rather common sound in Akai's presence.

Furuya.

He's alive.

But for how long?

Akai rushes to kneel by Furuya's side, doesn't care about the glass shards that pierce easily through his socks, his sweatpants, as he cradles the limp body in his kitchen.

He checks the head the head the head-

It's wet.

His heart beats double-time, blood rushes in his head. But there's no exit wound, and his fingers come away clear.

Akai lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Beneath his touch Furuya is burning up, though. As if he needed any further indication that something's very, very wrong. Furuya would never let himself be seen this sweaty, flushed, exposed, if he could help it.

"Furuya. Furuya-kun."

Another groan, and finally, there's some resistance in Akai's arms. Furuya winces, furrows his brows. He blinks up at Akai, eyes unfocused, but awake, at least.

Alive.

"Stop shouting already. I'm right here."

Furuya's voice comes out too nasally, his airways must be obstructed. Akai tilts his head a little, to put less strain on it. Let Furuya breathe more easily.

"Since when is the kitchen so tall?"

Not good. He's hallucinating. Or at least struggling with spatial awareness.

Akai manages to snatch Furuya's wrist in time, draws him close. He really doesn't need shards of glass stuck in his hands, in addition to whatever knocked him out.

Akai steadies him, lets him lean against himself. Isn't ready to let go of him, anytime soon.

He should assess the damage first, but he's curious.

"Furuya. What are you doing here?"

The agent frowns at him, seemingly confused. It takes him a moment to answer.

"You gave me the key?", he sneers. Curls in on himself protectively.

Except that's not what Akai is asking. Why is Furuya here, in the middle of the night, when-

"You're sick."

Maybe stating the obvious will get through to him, seeing as he seems to have trouble grasping the severity of his situation.

"So? It is Thursday. I promised."

He says it airily, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. As if it explains everything.

Yukiko-san had given Akai an earful for not taking care of himself properly, but even he knows to hole up and rest when he's sick. Not drive halfway across town on a paper-thin promise.

Surely, Furuya would have to understand that his own safety, his own health, comes first?

Right?

"I am fine. Get me to my car. I have inconvenienced you enough as it is."

Akai blinks. Furuya can barely move, and he wants to do what, exactly, in his car? Call for help? Suffer? Try to drive?

While he would like to assume this is a bout of temporary insanity brought on by the fever, if Akai looks back on their shared history, he isn't sure Furuya ever knew when to quit. Or what was good for him.

Damnit.

Alright.

"I'm driving you home."

He got to keep his car, at least, even if the gadgets were removed, his permits revoked. They'd told him to stick to travelling on foot, too, if he can. But for Furuya, he could make an exception.

"Who do I call to check up on you?"

At that, Furuya simply laughs at him.

Akai has never heard him do so, before.

It's not pretty.

Cold and hollow, the sound rings harshly in the night. Interrupted by coughs and sputters, Furuya's laughter is an ugly, broken thing, as far removed from joy as can be. It goes on for far too long.

This isn't funny.

Akai shivers. He'll be glad if he never has to hear that dreadful sound again.

"Just leave me be. I will survive, like always."

Up until that moment, Akai was pretty sure he'd lost it. But deep inside his chest, something stirs. A fragile little thing; it aches and splinters and breaks at the sight before him.

Furuya's bright smile is polished, his eyes like shining glass. It's too much.

Akai would be more inclined to believe him if Furuya wasn't shivering. If his nose wasn't running. If his eyes weren't red.

"No."

He might not know Furuya Rei. He barely knew Bourbon, and Amuro Tooru was actively out for his blood. He has no idea what happened to this man, to make him so furious at the world, yet so resigned to his fate. But the emotion that just shone through Furuya's carefully maintained image is all too familiar.

Survival isn't the prize it's made out to be. Not when-

Don't think about them. Someone needs to keep it together, and it won't be Furuya. You can do that, right? Not for yourself, but for him.

Yes.

A hypothesis forms, unbidden. The promise was just an excuse. Furuya came here because he had no other place to go to. No one to turn to.

That's fine. Akai understands. He doesn't have one either. Not anymore.

But he can give Furuya what he still has left: himself.

"I won't leave you alone."

He's the worst person for this; Akai barely knows how to take care of himself. The last time he looked after someone with a cold... he might still have been a teenager, taking care of Shukichi.

But it beats suffering alone, surely.

"Great. That means I have a chance to die of food poisoning."

There's a shimmer of life in Furuya's eyes, before he closes them. A faint smile, as he rests his head against Akai's chest. Broken, but a little more human than the Venetian mask he showed before.

Akai squeezes him, once, then picks him up without too much trouble. Shards of glass fall from their clothes, as he rises, holding Furuya close.

Alright.

First, he needs to clean up his guest.

Then, the flat.

Lastly, himself, if he has energy to spare.

And somewhere in-between, he'll need to call Yukiko-san. Maybe she will share the secret to her chicken noodle soup with him.

[theheartmold]

SESSION ONE: WELCOME TO BAROVIA

This is the re-cap/write-up of our first session in CURSE OF STRAHD: HUNTED, a campaign run by our dungeon-master ONYX and played by a total of six people around the table. In this session the party first arrives in the plane of Barovia and meets each other, before heading toward the nearest village (also Barovia).

As a note, the character known as Luca does not show up in subsequent sessions as the player bowed out of the campaign and we brought in someone else to take their place in session 2.

View the cast HERE.

For now, though, here is the start of the STORY SO FAR. / (MOBILE LINK)

The session opens with everyone centering in on a clearing, in the woods just south of Barovia.

Melchior and Giselle had met earlier in the day; Melchior introduced himself to her as a werewolf hunter, and seeing that Giselle was lost, agreed to take her to the village of Barovia so that she could start to get her bearings. It's late, and they've just set camp. Suddenly, an elf bursts into the clearing--Lune--and only pauses for a moment to tell them to "run" before they move along, faster than anyone the other two have ever seen before.

Before Melchior and Giselle have a chance to decide what to do, there is another interruption. Falling from the sky is Crafine, the kenku, followed quickly by Vayagol, a cleric who lands on top of them. As the group struggles to get their bearings, with Melchior offering healing word to Crafine, they realize that Giselle has already run off after Lune.

Eventually, the party catches up and gathers together underneath a tree. Up in the branches, Lune is helping Luca (bloodhunter) and an injured hunter, Bernor, down from the tree. Luca is covered in blood down the front of his shirt, and Bernor is limping along with his crossbow.

Crafine's sense power ability reveals a mass of undead encroaching upon the group from every direction except to the north, so everyone heads north. The mists, which seem to be chasing them, funnels them over the bridge and into the village of Barovia. Although to outsiders, the edge of the town is dilapidated, with abandoned houses and shuttered windows, those native to the plane state that it is always in such a state. The party takes note of a mansion nearby, welcoming with warm lights in the windows, though Melchior is disinterested in seeking help there.

Luca goes to seek help in the inn (Blood of the Vine), but the locals are frightened by the encroaching mists and so no help comes. Despite Melchior's warnings, Giselle makes a run for the mansion and prompts the party to follow. They find themselves trapped within Durst Manor, as the fog closes in and gives them nowhere else to turn. Melchior and Luca hint that this might be by design, alluding to a mysterious baron, and the party goes inside to investigate what might be going on within the manor.

Just inside, in the foyer, the party encounters two children: Rose & Thorn. The two children inform the party that their parents are gone (but insist that they will return), and that a monster "lives in the basement, but is haunting them through the walls". Despite Melchior's reticence, the party agrees to help them out. They decide to leave the children with Bernor guarding them, armed with a crossbow in the foyer, while everyone else explores the lower level of the house.

A short rest is taken, and then exploration begins. It appears as though life has frozen in place: the kitchen appears to have been freshly used, a mess with food and dishware scattered everywhere, and there is a hot feast out and waiting in the dining room. No one partakes of any food, though there is some theft of the silverware after Melchior reveals that he is a werewolf hunter, and that werewolves are a threat in Barovia. He says that a table setting is unlikely to do much damage to one of the beasts, but thefts occur regardless.

Upon not finding much on the first floor, save a bungled attempt to open a locked cupboard and an aside that Vayagol might not hear from her god here, the party decides to head up into the second floor. Melchior recognizes the people in the painted portrait at the top of the stairs, and correctly identifies the face of Gustav Durst, the former master of the Durst Manor and whose family used to rule Barovia. He recognizes Elizabeth Durst, his wife, who is scowling down at the baby cradled in Gustav's arms. The two children in front of them, who he states seem to be Rose & Thorn Durst, are smiling unawares.

In the library, Lune discovers a secret passageway; within, they find runic books on the shelves (which neither Melchior nor Crafine had the time to try and translate). Also within the passageway was a skeleton, that had clearly been killed by acidic darts, clutching a letter. The letter reads as follows:

My most pathetic servant, I am not a messiah sent to you by the Dark Powers of this land. I have not come to lead you on a path to immortality. However many souls you have bled on your hidden altar, however many visitors you have tortured in your dungeon, know that you are not the ones who brought me to this beautiful land. You are but worms writhing in my earth. You say that you are cursed, your fortunes spent. You abandoned love for madness, took solace in the bosom of another woman, and sired a stillborn son. Cursed by darkness? Of that I have no doubt. Save you from your wretchedness? I think not. I much prefer you as you are. Your dread lord and master, Strahd Von Zarovich

Lune opens up the chest on which the skeleton was propped up, and retrieves several items: three identified scrolls (bless, protection from poison, spiritual weapon) and three more scrolls that have yet to be identified. In the study portion of the library, Melchior reads through the first page of an open journal that was left out near the fireplace, and locates a silver key within the desk emblazoned with the symbol of a windmill; he recognizes this windmill from his travels.

Across the hall in the music room, Luca effortlessly serenades Giselle with enchanting piano music while she dances along. Crafine and Melchior enter the music room to investigate, so Giselle steps outside to talk to Vayagol. While this is happening, Lune travels upstairs to the third level of the manor alone, triggering an attack on the party by animated armors that suddenly spring to life.

In the ensuing combat, much is revealed, such as: Giselle is capable of casting magic, despite her previous claims that she is unable to do much more than to cook or paint. Melchior spies Luca drawing his own blood in combat, and his eyes turning a bright electric blue. Crafine almost falls unconscious, but Vayagol dashes over to him to heal his injuries before he is lost.

the party calls for a long rest.

in the library, Luca reveals to Crafine the truth that he is a dhampir, and that his blood is electrified(?) He alludes to some fonder familiarity between himself and Bernor. the pair of them play cards with the children, teaching Rose & Thorn how to gamble.

in the servants quarters, Melchior is carefully embroidering red thread into a large sheaf of spare black cloth. he tells Vayagol that his mother taught him how to do, and gestures to the red flowers embroidered onto his shirt. he implies that the flowers are of traditional significance, and promises to teach her the art of embroidery at a later time.

in the hallway, Lune speaks to Giselle, who is sticking close to them out of fear from the recent attack and feeling safer with them. Lune learns that Giselle was not lying to the party, but she has only recently come into her powers. Lune ponders over the amulet around their neck before taking their meditative rest.

end long rest.

after the long rest, Crafine and Luca realize that Bernor and the children are missing. Alarmed, the rest of the party is quickly roused, and everyone agrees to ascend to the third level of the house. (Luca and Giselle first investigate the third floor, but Melchior writes them off and convinces everyone else to keep going). The third story is unlike the first two: it is decrepit and aged, walls peeling, cobwebs strung along corners and dusty furniture. Crafine locates a hidden stairwell hidden in the far wall. the party splits at this point.

Melchior, Luca, Crafine, and Vayagol enter the northern room. In this room, they find another dead body--a man, but no one knows whom. They tear this room apart with perception checks: Crafine locates a safe in the nearby wall, and Melchior locates the key locket hidden within the bed. Within the safe is a jewelry box with an expensive looking pendant and three non-magical rings; Luca takes the pendant, and Crafine tricks Melchior into handing over the rings. Vayagol reminds them that they are supposed to be looking for Bernor and the children.

Melchior notices that Crafine is additionally wearing a wedding ring.

In the southern room, Lune and Giselle open the door and are set upon by a specter who does not want to permit them entry into the room. Both of them attempt to calm the spirit enough to enter the room, but fail. They do get the specter to indicate that the missing children are another floor up, on the fourth floor, accessible only by the recently discovered secret passage.

On the fourth floor, the party locates the bedroom of Rose & Thorn Durst. It is discovered that the children they previously met on the first floor were not the real spirits, but an entity mimicking them. Through questioning the children, it is inferred that Strahd likely killed their parents at a dinner banquet, and the children were left to starve alone upstairs.

During this discussion, Melchior becomes visibly distressed and leaves the room; although he occasionally interjects with questions, he is mostly pale and sick-looking for a time.

The dollhouse in their room reveals that passages to the basement are missing that should have been there. The house is sentient, and was hiding the basement access from the party (either to protect us or to protect itself). Crafine wraps up the bones of the children to properly bury them; additionally, he and Giselle both allow themselves to be possessed by Rose & Thorn. Lune takes the dolls of the children at Melchior's behest.

Before they descend to the basement, Crafine and Melchior have an argument at the top of the stairwell. Melchior insists that attempting to fight the creature within the manor is futile, as everything within Barovia is subject to the will of Strahd Von Zarovich: their best attempt would be to flee and chance with the mist. Crafine argues that it is the coward's way out, and that there is no other way but to the basement. Despite his reservations, Melchior makes no attempt to leave the group.

During this argument, Melchior bares his teeth at Crafine, revealing sharp canines; Luca notices this and asks Melchior if he is also a dhampir, something which Melchior affirms. Luca shows off his ability to spider climb on the ceiling.

As they descend, Crafine moves slowly, allowing for some to get a chance to converse. Melchior and Luca discuss dhampirism (with a few interjections from Crafine), in which Melchior agrees that they are strange kindred, but does not reveal what he hungers for (Luca is revealed to be a classic bloodsucker). additionally, it comes out that Crafine is in his 40s, with two children between the ages of 20-23. Luca is revealed to be physically 24, but due to his dhampirism, he is also up into his 40s. Melchior is simply 24, Giselle is 18, and Vayagol is 19. Lune does not offer their age.

Melchior keeps getting tripped by Something as they continue to head down the stairs. Crafine is using his sense powers skill repeatedly, fretting over a consecrated presence that has repeatedly occurred. As it keeps showing up from behind, he begins to shuffle the party members in front of him on the stairs so that he can narrow down from whom it is coming. Surprisingly, the cleric, Vayagol, is not the source of this consecrated energy. It is narrowed down to either Giselle or Lune, before Melchior, now at the front of the group, is violently shoved down the stairs.

As he recovers and gets his bearings, the rest of the party catches up to him. Melchior accuses Luca, who had been behind him, of being the one to push him. Luca denies this and the two bicker until Crafine puts an end to it, saying they need to keep moving.

Melchior indicates the group should go to their right, and lead them to a crypt. Underneath the Durst Manor is the Durst Family Crypt, which Melchior notes with no small amount of alarm seems suspiciously empty. As they head south, they find the four empty tombs of the immediate durst family: Gustav, Elizabeth, Rosevalda, and Thornboldt.

Crafine puts the bones of the children into their respective tombs (and Lune lays their dolls to rest with them), and the spirits pass on. Crafine and Giselle are no longer considered possessed.

As they head further into the crypt, Melchior is attacked by a hidden creature referred to as a grick. Thankfully, it is quickly disposed of, with Lune making the killing blow.

END OF SESSION ONE.

[dreamsxdecay]

When I think about happiness I drift into a dream - a dream of a small cottage with big windows. I dream of a weather with chilly wind and warm sunlight. I dream about you and our pets a small open kitchen painted mustard yellow. A table for two in the corner with a vase of flowers handpicked freshly from outside by you. I dream about sap green tiled washroom with a small shiny and round bathtub steaming with hot water. The window decorated with plants that you water everyday. Our bedroom and a bed of clouds with throws and quilts softer than cotton candy. The warm dusty flooring that we clean everyday - the smell of plants that are planted everywhere in the house and the aroma of herbal tea boiling on the stove. Soft jazzy music plays while we have tea - I cut you a piece of sponge cake and take out a jar of cookies from the top shelf of the wooden cupboard. The golden hour softly enters our home dazzling the rainbow wind chime and peaking through all the windows before swiftly setting into the night sky. The breeze twinkles the shutters as we close them and light our home with lights and candles to be put out as we sleep to wake up to another day. Another beautiful day - another dream of sharing tea and jazzy music filling up our vacant hearts.

[albertbutyoucancallmebert]

@detective-fez

(prev) Fez blinked, Bert did mention there would be rats. He rubbed his eye beneath his glass, then adjusted it to ensure he wasn’t dreaming. “Oh! Good evening.” He yawned. “I didn’t mean to walk in so suddenly— I’m Detective Fez Daniels Manuel. Don’t worry though, I’m not here officially or anything, Bert wanted to watch hockey together.”  He followed her eyes towards the uncooked popcorn in his hands. “Oh, yeah, that. Do you want some? If you have a microwave that’d be helpful. Probably should have asked that before I came over.” He chuckled, glancing away and at all the tech which fascinated him. “Dang. Cool.” He smiled.

The lab indeed was full of neat tech, peculiar machines, and strange apparatuses. The left wall was covered in various monitors and screens, with keyboards and complicated control panels underneath. The right wall consisted of a long counter lined with cupboards. Multiple machines and appliances occupied the countertop, and dirty beakers and test tubes were piled in the counter’s sink. The back wall was what looked like one massive ant farm. In the middle of the lab was a table, with an apparatus of various tools hanging from the ceiling. 

When Fez asked if they had a microwave, Sherri Jr. perked up and started to walk further into the lab, glancing behind her as a signal that Fez could follow. She led him to a machine that looked nothing like a microwave. She hopped up on the counter and with her tail pulled up a metal shutter on the machine that revealed an interior chamber. She stared and blinked at Fez expecting him to place a popcorn bag in there.

[waywardangel-wilds]

Cyclamen

I've decided to make this a short story with maybe 3 chapters. I finished the first one:

“Oh hush, you.”

“Stranger tales have been woven.”

“What can a no-good fool know about such things,” the woman hmphed, “To speak of them.”

“I may be a fool, but I’m no less wiser,” the man winked. His eyes were riddled with cataracts, but they sparkled. The children huddled close by; their little heads eagerly tilted with the promise of a story.

“Papa, please tell us,” One of them begged, her little hands pulling insistently at the old man’s knee. “Please!”

“You’ve done it now,” his wife turned back to her knitting needles.

“Well, it’s as they say. Once, long ago, on a winter night just like this one, old man Everdeen heard it.”

“What did he hear?” one of the youngsters gasped.

“Three knocks,” he whispered and slowly, so slowly, brought a fist aloft.

“One,” he struck his knuckles against the arm of his chair.

“Two,” the children’s eyes followed his every movement.

“Three.”

The howling winds were ferocious that night. They screamed and scratched against the walls, rattling the window shutters, and pushing up against the door. The cold was like no other. The cruelest winter in three generations. With it, hunger and illness stole in, unwelcome guests to every household, perfumed with the stench of death.

The house was small, a cottage of just one room. There was a fire, a table for eating, two beds, and nothing else. That was all there was, in those days. All there could be.

Old Man Everdeen had a wife and two children. Two lovely daughters, one fair and golden and one bronze and ebony. He loved them, dearly. They were all he had. He would have done anything, sacrificed anything, his health, his life, his sanity, but that was not what the bear wanted from him.

Old Man Everdeen had a daughter made of iron. She took care of him and their family without complaint. Every day, without fail since the mineshaft took his legs. It troubled him, to be so useless, to be cumbersome. But his daughter, his lovely daughter, she was as radiant as the sun.

That evening, desperation was their guest. The cupboards were bare, and the coal would run out. The wind kept screaming, screeching, all around, as they huddled close to the fire. Waiting. For death? For an unknown guest?

And then it came.

The knocks were heavy. Final. They sucked the air out of the room and hushed the blizzard. He ceased breathing.  Even the mice paused. It came once, twice, three times.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Papa,” his youngest daughter whispered. “Who’s there?”

“Everdeen,” the voice spoke inside his mind. “Everdeen. We must all pay our debts.”

His iron daughter stood.

“No!” he reached out, but she was a step too far. “Katniss!”

“They might need our help,” she replied earnestly. Innocently. Kindly.  He would have stood if he could. “I’ll be alright, Papa.”

“Everdeen,” the voice spoke to him again.

His daughter’s feet whispered against the floorboards. She never made a sound. His little lynx. She was his little hunter, his little Katniss bloom. She already had twenty summers, but to him, she’d always be his toothy girl, bobbing in the river, all sharp knees, and elbows, shouting Papa! Papa! Look what I can do!

The door creaked open, but only slightly, to keep the cold air out. His daughter gasped and scrambled backwards, tripping over a chair. She fell hard on the ground, but that was the least of their concerns. The door swung open as flurries of snow blanketed the wooden floor. His wife cried out at his side and his other daughter screamed. But he didn’t make a sound. Somehow, he had known. He’d always known things would end like this.

The white bear took one step and then another into the house. It stared at him, unblinking, with eyes the color of the northern sea. Yes, he’d known, how could he have forgotten? We must all pay our debts.

“You are a poor man, Everdeen.” The bear spoke to him alone. “What have you for me?”

“Nothing,” he whispered in reply, to his wife’s bewilderment.

“Spruce?” she asked, staring at him as he remained calm before the bear. She stood, shaking, but with their youngest hidden behind her. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Ah!” His eldest daughter screamed, rushing up behind the bear with one of their hunting knives above her head. It was reckless and desperate, but just like her to try and protect him once more.

“Stop!” he exclaimed, and she did. She stood wild-eyed and panting, the knife still brandished in her hands. “It means no harm.”

The bear turned its large head and gazed down at his daughter. She stared back defiantly but she was afraid. And how couldn’t she be? With a bear in their home and a debt to pay?

“I have nothing.” He insisted once more. “No gold, no riches, not even bread to break. Oh, Great Northern Bear, have mercy on my family, and take me alone.”

“What?” His wife shouted just as his eldest daughter gasped.

“You are an honest man.” The bear spoke again without moving its jaws. It remained speaking to him exclusively. “But my master demands fair payment all the same.”

“I understand,” he nodded and closed his eyes. “Please, Great Bear if you must strike me down, allow my family the peace of ignorance. Do not take me here.”

“Your life is not payment enough, Everdeen.”  The bears’ words rocked him to his core. “You must give me your greatest treasure. From your two daughters, chose one, so I might take her with me.”

“Never,” he declared. “Strike me down where I stand, but never, not my daughters.”

“Papa!” His youngest exclaimed.

“You are a poor man, Everdeen.” The bear repeated. “Give me your eldest daughter and I will bathe you in riches. Your wife and child will have enough to eat for the rest of your days. But you must give me the eldest Everdeen, and never see her again, so your debt will be repaid.”

He choked on a sob, “No.” He insisted. “Take me and wipe my old debt clean and never darken my door again.”

The bear made a growling noise and turned its great head once more. His daughter gasped and he knew, it spoke to her alone.

“Katniss,” he begged. “Don’t.”

His daughter took her time straightening her spine and putting down her knife. She fixed her hair. She glanced at the bear once and strode up to her mother.

“I love you,” she whispered and embraced her once, doing the same to her sister a moment after.

“Katniss,” his voice turned desperate. “Please.”

She came up to him last. He was sequestered to the sofa unless someone else moved him first. She embraced him and his sobs escaped. His daughter was made of iron, and he knew nothing would bend her.

“Goodbye, Papa.” She whispered, squeezing his shoulders. “I love you.”

“Katniss!” He cried after her, his voice bouncing off against the walls long after she was gone.