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i-cant-sing · 5 months

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Time Traveller Au pt 5

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. AU masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Part 6 is here!

This is kinda long so bring your snacks along.

Baldwin and a woman- kissing.

You were in your room right now, fiddling with your time machine now that you had one tool to pry it open. Just 20 minutes ago, you had witnessed Baldwin and some girl kissing, and very swiftly you, turned and left the scene before either of them could notice you. You dont need to meddle in their business- why should you?

Its not like I actually want to stay here and confront him if he really did betray his future wife.

Someone knocked quickly on your door before entering in.

"Y/n!" Baldwin beamed as he ran towards you and picked you up, spinning you around. "Princess! I missed you!" He exclaimed, putting you down and kissing your forehead. Though he still kissed you with the same intensity as ever, you didnt feel the warmth as you usually did.

"Hello." You said monotonously, it was the best you could do to keep your voice stable. Baldwin, still in a daze, cupped your face in his hands and gazed lovingly at you.

"You are a sight for sore eyes." Shut up.

You looked away as Baldwin continued to stare into your soul. "So... how was your trip? Tell me all about it!" He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you further to him.

"It was fine." You replied, looking at the collar of his shirt. You refuse to look up into his eyes, lest you lose control of your temper. "Just fine? What about your family? Did you find them?" His voice held genuine concern.

You hummed, still not looking up. "I have found some clues, but I will need to go there again to find more."

Baldwin pouted. "Again? No. Being away from you for just 1 week already felt like a lifetime!" Oh I bet. Thats why you couldnt stop yourself from kissing some whor-

"I need to go, Baldwin. Its important for me to find them." You said with the same serious tone, and it didnt go unnoticed by him this time.

He tilted your chin up to meet his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" You tried to pull away, but his arms held you firmly. His eyes studied you again, and he wasn't convinced.

"Princess, tell me whats bothering you." You. You are bothering me.

As much as you wanted to say that, you didnt. Cheater or not, he still is the king.

Finally, you gave him a small smile. "I'm sorry, I'm just- tired from the travelling." He sighed in relief, using the back of his hand to caress the side of your face. "Oh, I bet you are darling. Why dont you take a nap now and I'll come fetch you for dinner?"

Baldwin threw you a feast on your return. Even though you had no appetite, you still joined him because you cant completely ignore him without raising suspicion. So, for now, you'll bide your time. You'll play the fool.

It just didnt make any sense. Why- why was he trying so hard to be affectionate with you? Why he wanted to marry you when he was interested in someone else? And before anyone says that maybe he's not that into her- um, back in this era, when everyone was conservative, even Baldwin was religious, he wouldn't just kiss any girl out of wedlock unless he was absolutely sure he was going to marry her.

"Y/n?" You looked up from your plate at Sibylla. Baldwin had invited his sister and Guy to celebrate your return. "Tell us, how was Egypt?"

You could feel Baldwin's eyes on you, but you didnt look his way. "It was good. Salauddin was a very good host, he had arranged for me to see the pyramids."

"Ah, how kind of Salauddin. I'll be sure to write him a letter and send him some gifts. What do you think, princess?" Baldwin offered, but you only gave a small hum and barely spared a glance his way before continuing to talk with Sibylla.

"My king, I do not think it would be wise to do that. The Muslims are our enemies-" Guy interjected but Baldwin shot him down with a look. Baldwin didnt even have to glare at Guy to intimidate him.

"I have brought some souvenirs for you. They're in my room- I'll show them to you later." You smiled at Sibylla who beamed back.

Dinner was mostly uneventful, or until dessert was served and Guy began choking on blueberry. "Guy!" Sibylla cried out as her husband began thrashing about from the lack of air. The servants tried to help him, slapping his back and all, but really what could they do.

Serves him right for trying to eat and start a propaganda against Muslims again. But alas, you needed Guy alive if you wanted to bring the downfall of Baldwin and Jerusalem, just as history had it.

So you walked over and pushed everyone away before performing Heimlich manoeuvre. It took a few minutes but the blueberry finally dislodged itself from his wind pipe and out.

"Oh! Guy-!" Sibylla rubbed his back as he coughed while a servant passed him some water. She smiled at you gratefully. "You saved him, Y/n! Thank you! You really are an angel!" Guy finally recovering from his coughing fit, pushed Sibylla's hands away and glared at you.

"She did not save me- I was not dying-!" He argued, but before Baldwin could defend you, you replied nonchalantly.

"I agree. You werent dying. This was just God's way of telling you to shut up sometimes. Hallelujah!" Baldwin had to cover up his laugh as everyone in the room automatically said "Hallelujah", not giving Guy a chance to retaliate.

Baldwin's eyes sparkled with amusement as he found you smirking.

You're a clever one.

Baldwin came to fetch you for breakfast the next day. He came to your room last night, just minutes after Sibylla had left, but one of your maids informed him that you had already went to sleep. Slightly odd, as the king would always wish you good night before you slept, but he suppose you were tuckered out from your long journey.

However, he was dumbfounded when he saw all your maids standing outside your room, whispering amongst each other.

"What is going on? Why are you not with the princess?" Baldwin asked, quickly waving them off as they bowed.

"Your majesty, the princess- um she has started her bloody flux."

"Her WHAT?!"

"Her monthly cycle." Oh. Periods. Baldwin sighed. He thought some terrible accident had occurred.

Then again, periods in medieval times were not a good news either. Sure, they did indicate fertility and all, but woman were still shamed about it, especially religiously. Some people believed that cramps and bleeding were a punishment for Eve's original sin. Others even believed that since one is bleeding for such a long time, then that person is "sick" and could transfer this "disease" to those in contact or even near mensturating women. A small minority even thought that this monthly flow was some sort of sorcery or curse that could ruin entire crop fields. Add on to that the lack of sanitary pads/tampons and no ibuprofen, and you get what would be a terrible time for women.

"Please inform the princess that I'm here-"

The maids shared a look. "Your majesty, it is not advisable to be near the princess when she is sick-"

"Inform the princess. Now." The maid's heart almost dropped at his tone, before following his order. Moments later, she returned looking even more nervous than before.

"Y-your majesty, the princess insists that she will see you herself when she is feeling better, for now she would like to rest." Baldwin frowned. Just how unwell were you? Are you- are you really that unwell or do you just not want to see him?

No. You wouldnt avoid him like this. He hasnt done anything wrong.

Baldwin looked at the maids again, who were waiting with bated breath. "Bring herbal medicines for the princess. Ensure the best care for her. Every need must be met." The consequences of not following his order didnt need to be voiced.

You returned back to tinkering with your time machine when you heard his retreating steps. Were you on your period? Yes. Were you so sick that you did not want to even look at Baldwin? No, but then again, your cramps hit worse on day 2 and your ibuprofen was burned away with your clothes.

Then again, PMS-ing or "working on your time machine" wasnt the real reason you refused to meet Baldwin. It did contribute to it, but deep down you knew you were still bothered by the fact that he kissed that woman.

You dropped your time machine on the bed exasperatedly. Clearly, you werent going to be able to focus on this as long as you didnt confront your feelings about the kissing. So, you became your own unpaid therapist.

First of all, was it really cheating? It was just a kiss- nope. You shook your head, deciding. It so was cheating! Especially considering the time period and how conservative everyone was.

Alright. Next question- was it intentional? You closed your eyes, trying to come up with excuses. Maybe he was drunk? No. Baldwin never gets that drunk, and even drunk, you highly doubt he's one to go for day time drinking. Perhaps that lady initiated the kiss? Yeah, thats possible. She kissed him, but- your lips pulled into a scowl as you recalled the sight. He didnt push her back for a good few seconds. Of course, you didnt stick around for long to see if he did, but still, Baldwin should've pushed her back. Maybe he had his back turned and she caught him by surprise- you sighed. No way. Baldwin's reflexes were too fast, to the point you think he probably has a sixth sense. He wouldn't have been caught off guard, or even let anyone get this close to him.

You rolled your eyes. Intentional or not, at the end of the day, the fact is that Baldwin didnt immediately push her away and smack her down on the ground.

On to the next query- who the hell was that lady? Because nobody would just go up to the king and kiss him, especially when said king made sure to announce his engagement to the entire world. So, she planned it. Yes, no one would dare to do that unless they knew they could get away with it. So maybe she's someone Baldwin knows. Personally. Maybe a childhood friend? An old bethrothed? Or his favourite whore because Baldwin isnt as innocent as he seems and decided to have a bachelor party while you were away?

And finally, the burning question- why did it bother me who he was locking lips with? You crossed your arms against your chest defensively. Why did it bother me so deeply? Was I jealou- You scoffed. No. Definitely not. Okay, maybe I am a little jealous. And who wouldn't be? Anyone in my shoes would understand. Perhaps I enjoyed his attention, its human nature. Normal psychology... yeah. Even if I wasn't going to return his affections ever, even if I never intended to marry Baldwin, of course I would still expect him to be loyal, He didn't know I was going to leave him! He shouldn't be kissing other women! He should've stayed loyal, stayed true to me, his fiancee!

You exhaled sharply, brows furrowing the more you thought about his betrayal. It was understandable for me to be pissed. Why? Because of Baldwin and his stupid lovey dovey words and his disgusting forehead kisses and his dumb big blue eyes that made me believe him.

And even if he didnt actually love you, you thought that at the very least- he liked you, especially when you had literally saved his fucking life.

Your nostrils flared. "Jerk." You whispered to yourself.

A knock came on your door.

It was one of the maids, bringing in something on a tray.

"His Majesty has sent some herbal medicines for you." You were a little surprised at the gesture, not because Baldwin did it. Ugh. No, you were surprised because in medieval times, people often withheld herbal medicines or anything that would relieve period pain purely because many believed that this pain was the punishment of Eve's original sin for all womankind. So- considering Jerusalem's religous history, you were surprised at the gesture.

"I have also brought in more cloth rags for you. Would you like me to help you change-" "No!" You said abruptly, heat rising to your cheek. Yes, you were using linen rags because you didnt have any pads with you. Of course, earlier you had futuristic gadgets and medicines to deal with this situation, but with all of them burned to ashes, you had no choice.

"Oh. My apologies princess. I thought you'd like some privacy so I excused protocol, but I can have your ladies in waiting come and assist you-" "Please stop talking." You begged. "Its... fine. I can do it myself. Please leave the rags in my cupboard. And um-" You fiddled with your hands, trying to gather the words to voice your next request.

The sweet old lady smiled kindly at you. "Yes, princess?"

You looked down, cheeks flushing. "Can you... get me some more soap? And um, thicker rags?"

"Soap? Oh, I'll have the bath prepared right away-"

"No, not body soap. Soap for... washing my clothes." The maid nodded understandingly. "You can give me your stained clothes, princess. I'll wash them myself."

"Im sorry-" She waved you off. "No worries. I should've asked. Its just- woman here usually dont have heavy flows. I'll arrange more rags. If you dont mind me asking, how long does your flow last?"

"Sev-" You were going to say seven days but then realised the more days you added, the less you'll have to see Baldwin, or anyone else really and that will buy you more time to work on your machine. "Ten, sometimes twelve days."

The kind lady's eyes bulged a little. "I-! My apologies, princess! I- I was just caught off guard. Its um- well, its just girls here get shorter flows. The longest I heard was 5 days." Of course, in medieval times, menstrual cycles were shorter due to poor diet and more frequent child bearing.

"10 to 12 days... princess, I apologise for asking this, but have you considered that you might be bleeding excessively because of a disease? Shall I fetch a physician?" She asked with concern.

You shook your head. "No. I have always gotten them this long and I had myself checked by a physician. She said its normal, especially where I'm from." The maid nodded, satisfied that you're not bleeding to death.

Baldwin was in his study, working on some official documents when your maid knocked on his door.

"Your Majesty." She bowed gracefully as Baldwin smiled at her, standing from his seat to walk up to her, embracing her in a warm hug.

"Lady Margaret, how are you?" Lady Margaret used to be his royal nanny for a long while and took care of him even when he had contracted leprosy. She was practically a mother figure to him, especially when his own mother died. When Baldwin became engaged to you, he had asked her to be your senior lady in waiting, which will be her official title once you are wed to him. For now, she is your head maid. Baldwin trusted her the most with you. She had a comforting presence, and he was sure that while she took care of you, you would also find comfort in her the same way he used to.

"I'm good, your majesty." She smiled softly. "I just served the princess lunch."

"Hm, and how is the princess now?" The concern in his voice warmed her heart.

"The princess is well now. She's resting at the moment, though I feel a little concerned."

His heart skipped a beat. "Why?"

"Princess Y/n told me about her cycle time." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "It seems that she will suffer through this- diseased period longer than most others."

"How long?"

"Ten or twelve days." His eyes went saucer wide. From what he's heard, the normal duration is often 2 or 3 days, maybe 5 for some. But this?

"Summon the physici-" "I offered, your majesty. But she insists that she already had herself checked and that this is her normal cycle." Lady Margaret informed him, before continuing on to ease his worries. "She seems very knowledgeable about her body, and she is handling it pretty well for now."

"For now?" She nodded. "Of course, only time can tell if the pain increases in its intensity. All we can do is offer our help and pray that this bloody flux passes smoothly and swiftly."

Baldwin pondered over her words for a moment, his brows still furrowed slightly before he finally spoke again. "Please summon the royal physician. I would like to talk to him." He ordered before leaving his study to go to the royal library.

The next day, as expected your cramps hit. You had no plans to move an inch today, tossing and turning as you clutched your abdomen, eyes screwed shut in pain.

Somebody knocked on your door. Its likely one of the maids, probably to bring you food or something.

"What?" You called out, pulling the covers over your head. You're in no mood to interact with anyone. You heard the door open and footsteps entering. You exhaled, barely suppressing the painful groan. "Please can you go right now and get me some of the herbal medicines you had given me yesterday- and no, no food. I'm too nauseous."

You heard the person clear their throat, making you frown. Why haven't they left? Oh, please this better be not some "royal protocol" shit where they withhold the drugs from you.

You whipped the blanket off you, eyes still closed as you raged off. "Unless you want me to continue to feel like I have a iron poker stuck up in my spine while my soul leaves me from my feet, you will get me those herb-" you stopped as you opened your eyes to see-

"Baldwin?" He stood there with worry spread across his face.

"Is it... really that bad?" He asks in a low volume, as if afraid that noise would hurt you. In his hands, he held a tray that had a bowl. Walking up to your side, he set the tray on your side table, and thats when you saw the bowl of soup on it.

"Why are you- you're not supposed to be in here." You informed him. "I'm sick-"

"I know." Baldwin began sitting down on your bed, making you scoot back to give him space. He scanned your face briefly, making note of the tired eyes. He raised his hand to touch your forhead, but you turned your face away, making him halt. Why... were you avoiding his touch?

"Princess?" He called you, but you didnt turn to look at him opting to answer by keeping your eyes fixed on your fingers fiddling with the covers. "I'm not well- you shouldnt be near me, or you'll risk getting sick-"

"I'll take the risk." He announced as his hand found its way to your forehead first, and then caressed your cheek. "You took the risk for me too, remember?"

I did. You stared at him. And for what, you prick?

Taking your silence as a sign, Baldwin picked up the bowl of soup and brought the spoon up to your lips.

"I'm not hungry."

"I know, but this will help with the pain and nausea. I promise." He gently nudged the spoon against your lips again, and you parted your lips as the aroma of rosemary and oregano hit your nose.

The soup tasted good and you wouldn't admit it out loud, but it did warm your soul as it slid down your throat. It was earthy and creamy, and just what your cramping body needed.

"Its nice, hm?" He asked, smiling as you gave him a single nod. "I had the kitchen make it with my own recipe."

"Your recipe?"

"Well, I told them about what ingredients to add, ones that would be beneficial for your body and soothe some of your ache. They had to tweak it a bit to make it palatable." Baldwin explained. "And how did you know what ingredients to add?" You interrogated. Did he make it for his lover? Or stole the recipe from her?

"Oh, I just researched it." "Researched?" He nodded, feeding you another spoon. "I read some books."

You couldn't help but scoff. "So what? You're an expert on periods now?"

He chuckled, shaking his head as he scooped up some more soup to feed you. "Of course not! I cant be an expert by spending after only researching for a day. Sure, I summoned the royal physicians to educate me more on the topic but I dont think he knows much."

He spent a whole day... reading about periods? You turned your gaze away from him, choosing to focus on the wall behind him instead. "That's obvious. Just how much could a man know about the female body?"

Baldwin's eyes twinkled. "Exactly my thoughts, princess." He fed you another spoon. "That's why I'm having a royal body of physicians solely focused on studying the female body and affect of medicine built. It will consist of the best physicians, both men and women, from around the world study and work on the diseases concerning the female body. I'll fund it personally."

"What? Why?"

He looked at you dumbfounded. "Obviously for the same reason you said. Currently not much is known about a woman's body, so why not? I don't want you to be suffering again because of my lack of knowledge. I truly do feel helpless when I see you in pain." He confessed sadly.

Liar.

He set the empty bowl to the side before taking your right hand in both of his. "Please, let me know how can I help you? My love, my beautiful princess, it hurts me to see you in this torment." Baldwin said as he kissed the back of your hand gently.

You stared at his face, at those blue eyes of his. How can he- how can he lie with such conviction?

You pulled your hand away from him, looking away (which now that you think about- why am I avoiding his eyes? I didnt do anything wrong!).

"I wish to be alone, Baldwin."

In your peripheral vision, you could see the way his face dropped, and though you should've felt delighted, you felt rather awful- as if you had hurt a child.

It only made things worse when he whispered. "But... why?"

Still avoiding his eyes, you replied. "I- I adjust better to this- this state when I'm alone. I just need to rest, that's all. Some peace and quiet." You convinced yourself that you only explained to him just to get him to leave.

Had you looked at him, you would've seen the sorrow on his face.

"O-of course, princess. As you wish."

He left.

The next 3 days were uneventful for you, mostly because you didnt leave your room and- Baldwin didnt return to disturb you.

Which is good. You though to yourself, because it finally gave you enough time to not only work on your time machine but also work on your plan to right the timeline as it should be.

Which is why, today you had decided to leave your room. Of course it helped that Lady Margaret had brought in cotton for you to make a DIY sanitary napkin.

"Where did you get this?" You don't recall cotton being grown easily in cooler climates.

Lady Margaret smiled as she made your bed. "His Majesty had it imported from Sicily."

Your eyes went wide. "How? Sicily is- thats far away!" She chuckled at you shock. "Yes, but I think this sicilian cotton had made its way to Egypt, and perhaps His Majesty acquired it from Sultan Salauddin."

You looked at the large amount of cotton packed into bags in your room. "He bought this much?" Lady Margaret followed your gaze to the pile sitting in the corner, and mistook your surprise for disappointment.

"No, dont worry princess. King Baldwin had bought bales of cotton! They're stored away for future use." Your jaw dropped.

Bales? Baldwin ordered BALES OF COTTON?! You gasped internally. If he had THAT much cotton imported from Egypt, Salauddin surely would've asked for the reason because he would suspect that Baldwin is planning to use it for military strategy or attack. But you know Baldwin, his dumbass would've spilled to Salauddin, his off field bestie who he confides in about everything, about your periods.

You want to crawl into a hole in ground and die. Right now.

But... you fucked up history, so dying of embarrassment will have to wait.

"Lady Margaret, I need some fresh air so I'll be either taking a walk in the garden or you'll find me in the royal library ." You said, adjusting your clothes in front of the mirror. "Please make sure that neither my maids nor my knights are to follow me. I- I need some time to breathe or I will lose my mind if I feel anyone breathe down my neck about some royal protocol. I'll be back before lunch." You left before she could protest, though you doubt she will when she saw how agitated you were.

You had walked towards the west hall where you were hoping to find that big headed buffoon-

You heard his obnoxious laughter before you saw him.

Guy was standing in the middle of the hall, looking ugly as hell as he smirked at some poor maid struggling to break free from his grasp.

"Oh come on, you wench, give me a kiss-"

"Guy, let her go." Startling him, the maid took the chance and ran off. Guy turned around, glaring when he saw you. "What do you want?" He grumbled, running a hand through his hair frustratedly, looking back to see if the maid was still there or not.

"Quit it." You scolded him, before walking towards an empty room, nodding at him to get in. He grinned as you strode in. "Ah, so you're jealous? Well dont you worry darling, I can give you a kiss to-"

"I would rather burn myself alive and be crucifed than even be rumoured that you dared to touch me with your disgusting paws." You remarked, walking away from him to create distance between you two. "I have a proposal for you that would interest you."

Guy grumbling, sat down on a chair and looked at you expectantly.

"I have a plan to make you king." His eyes went wide.

"I- I- what?!" He stood up. "I dont want- this is treason!" He yelled, pulling out his sword and aiming at you. You stood steadfast, unaffected. "And this isnt? If you kill me, who do you think will end up in the dungeons?" You sighed. "Put it away, Guy, before you embarrass yourself any further."

You began explaining your plan. "You and I both know you were just waiting for Baldwin to roll over and die when he had leprosy. I know you want to be king, and... I can help you with that."

He stared at you, trying to figure out if this is a trap. "I... I deserve to be king. I was promised the throne. Thats why I married Sibylla!" He complained. Honestly, what the fuck does Sibylla see in this piece of cow dung?

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you continued. "I agree, thats why we should make an alliance-"

He scoffed. "An alliance? With you?" He said with such disgust, you didnt know whether it was because it was you were a woman, or because you were- well, you. "Why would I need you?"

"Because Guy... you're too dumb to pull this off on your own. No offense." He was offended, so you continued before he could start talking shit again. "Guy, if you become a little open minded for just a few minutes and hear me out, you'll find my proposal very useful." And by some miracle, he stayed quiet and let you present your plan.

When you were finally done explaining, he looked pretty convinced. But of course, he would rather stab himself than admit that outloud.

"Your plan... can work, but it'll take an awful lot of time." He said.

You leaned against the wall, and crossed your arms. "Good things comes to those who wait."

"I still think we should do it my way." You rolled your eyes at his insistence. "Guy, do you know how stupid it sounds when you suggest that we lock Baldwin in a room full of lepers? He cant get leprosy again."

"Well, why not?!"

"Because I cured him." He scowled at your answer. "What about measles? Or yellow fever-"

"Baldwin cant get sick. Ever." Well, technically he could get sick but its highly unlikely because the medicinal vial he drank when you gave him your water had all the vaccines in it, so Baldwin's immunity is pretty invincible right now. You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Look, if we follow my plan, then Baldwin will die a hero, no one will suspect you of anything, and you still get to be king!"

He seemed to contemplate for a moment before narrowing his eyes at you. "And what do you get out of it?"

"Freedom." Guy scoffed. "You want freedom over being Queen of Jerusalem, the Holy Land? Do you think I'm stupid?!"

"Those are two different questions. But yes, to both." You smirked as he got mad. "Okay fine. I'm doing this for... revenge."

"Revenge?" You nodded. "I love someone else, and Baldwin doesnt love me either. He only wants me because of my "healing abilities." You lied, but this is the only way to convince Guy. "So what do you say? Are we in an understanding?" You asked him.

Guy smirked, nodding.

You were on your way towards your chambers when you saw her again.

Her. The woman who kissed Baldwin.

The raven haired lady was leaving her room and hadnt noticed you standing at the end of the corridor. She pulled her hood up, looking around hastily before leaving towards the East wing of the castle.

Where Baldwin resided.

You had no reason to, but before you could stop yourself, you were entering her room.

Might as well check the place where Baldwin's been hiding his lover all this time.

It was an average sized room, nowhere near as lavish as your or Baldwin's was, but still better than what some of his royal guests would get. You walked towards her bed, sitting down as a sharp cramp hit you.

You groaned, holding your stomach as you buckled over and thats when you caught sight of a small box under the bed. You pulled it out and took of the lid. It contained letters. Many letters from different people, but mostly from Baldwin.

You looked at the dates- they've been in contact for years.

Your finger traced over her name.

"Charlotte." Huh. Sounds a lot like harlot-

You shook your head. You cant stay here for too long, dont want "Charlotte" walking in on you snooping. Since these letters were arranged according to dates, you picked a couple on the bottom, to read later and see what Baldwin has been upto after announcing his engagement.

Pocketing them in your dress, you turned to leave, opening the door only to come face-to-face with her.

She was startled, before looking confused as to who you were.

Of course, she doesnt know you. While you were trying to come up with an excuse, Charlotte's eyes fell on the huge diamond ring on your finger, and she let out a small gasp of realisation and immediately dropped into a graceful courtesy.

"Your Majesty! I'm sorry I didn't recognise you before!" Alright, maybe the ball can be in your court.

You flicked your wrist to signal her to rise. "That's quite alright..."

"Charlotte." She replied. You hummed. "Right. I apologise, I didnt know this was your room. I was just trying to find the library."

"Oh thats on the other side of the castle, in the North wing!" She said cheerfully, your eyes falling on that dimpled smile of hers.

"Hm, you seem to know a lot about the castle." You remarked, a little bitterly.

But perhaps Charlotte didnt catch on. "Oh yes! I spent a lot of time here as a child. My father used to work for the late king." She explained. You continued to study her face, that fair complexion, blemish free skin, rosy cheeks, and hazel eyes adorned with luscious lashes.

"Ah, so you must be close with King Baldwin." You finally said, and you didnt fail to catch the momentary shock in her eyes before she composed herself.

Busted.

"I- hahaha, um, no. We used to play sometimes when we were young, but then the late king passed away, and King Baldwin had to take up new duties." She chuckled nervously.

You sighed dramatically. "Pity. You seem like a lovely gal." Charlotte's eyes widened slightly. "Heavy is the head that wears the crown, I guess." You mumbled as you moved past her.

"Y-your Majesty!" She called out from behind you. You looked at her nervous face as she bit her lip, trying to come up with the words.

"Yes?"

"I- I need your help." She gulped. "King Baldwin-"

"Y/N!" You whipped your head around to find Baldwin at the other end of the hall, marching over towards you two. His pace was fast and... somewhat angry.

He came to a halt, taking your face in his hands before kissing your forehead hard. "I've been looking for you everywhere, princess!" He hugged you, pulling your head into his chest. "You had me so worried!"

While your head was shoved against his chest, you managed to catch a glimpse of Charlotte looking at Baldwin with desperation, and tears welling up in her eyes. After a little struggle, you finally managed to push yourself away from Baldwin, but he immediately took ahold of your arms, not letting you get away from him. Or-

pulling you away from Charlotte.

The lady continued to look at Baldwin with those barely suppressed anguish, but he refused to spare her a glance. Instead, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and began pushing you in the opposite direction.

"Come on, princess. You need to be in bed resting." He said to you, still not acknowledging her.

"Your Majesty, I need to talk-" Charlotte called out.

"We'll talk later, Lady Charlotte."Baldwin continued to pull you along with him. "Your Majesty-"

"I said- later." He finally looked over his shoulder, and you were astonished to see the mean glare he cast her.

Charlotte finally bowed her head in submission.

As you both reached your room, Baldwin seemed to finally return to his usual self. "Oh princess, I just felt like my heart dropped when I was informed you werent in your room! You know the physicians have been emphasising bed rest-"

"What just happened back there, Baldwin?" You cut off his rambling.

"What was what, dear?"

"Baldwin." Your tone turned dead serious. "Why did you pull me away from her? What was Charlotte going to tell me?"

He looked into your eyes, and you could see the gears turning in his head. "Do not lie to me, Baldwin." You warned.

His gaze turned sharp. "I just didnt want you to listen to anything she had to say." He sat on your bed, leaning forward as he clasped his hands. "She's... not in the right state of mind."

Ah. So she's "crazy".

"Why is she not in the right mind? And why is she here then?" You demanded answers.

Baldwin sighed, rubbing his temples. "You should not be burdened with that. I am... handling it." He got up, taking your hands in his. "Just trust me, princess. I am doing this to protect you."

Fuck. That.

You wanted to backhand him so bad, but you also did not want your head chopped off. Seriously though... the nerve men have. To not only frame Charlotte as being "off her meds" but also basically admit to cheating because he's doing this to "protect you", what kind of bullshit is that?

But alas, your time machine was still not fixed and if the most

"pious" man could be cheating on you with a smile plastered on his face, you didnt think any other man of this era would fair any better.

So you played the fool.

"Of course I trust you, Baldwin." You let him kiss your hairline sweetly, though you felt anything but.

It didn't surprise you the next day when you tried to look for Lady Charlotte, only to be told that she left the day before, in the dead of the night.

Baldwin couldnt be looking anymore guilty than he is at the moments. Seriously, kicking out your lover the day your fiancee finds out about her existence?

You scoffed. He can do whatever the hell he wants, you're going to be leaving for Egypt soon anyways.

Returning to your room, you decided to read the letters that you had stole from Charlotte's room yesterday.

The 4 letters you had managed to take, all were from Baldwin detailing that he would "help her" and "cares for her still", etc. However, the last letter, the latest one, dated to almost 10 days ago, the same time you were away in Egypt, told Charlotte that he had been cured of leprosy, and would be soon able to get her the "cure" too. But this letter, it was signed off as "King Baldwin IV" and not "Baldwin" as in other letters.

All the previous letters, all of them were months old, or at the very least, they were all written before he announced his engagement. Which meant that for more than a month now, Baldwin hadnt written to her, kind of surprising, since he wrote to her- according to the dates, at least every two weeks. So why hadnt he wrote to her after deciding to marry you? He never mentioned you to her before-

You looked up in realisation. Did... did Baldwin plan to use you as a universal "cure"? You exhaled sharply in disbelief. No, no way. Baldwin doesnt actually believe in all that religious mumbo jumbo about you being an "angel sent by God who has magic healing powers". But-

Your heart sank. Of course, he does. Thats why he's making that "royal body of physicians", the best from around the world, to study you. He never wanted to study the female body to help your period cramps! He's gonna use you as a fucking lab rat to make himself and his people invincible! He wants you to cure them all!

What happens- what happens when he realises that I cant cure anyone? What's he going to do to me?

Your throat ran dry at the silent answer. You've read about medieval torture. They're brutal.

You heard footsteps coming towards your room, so you quickly his your letters and tried to look normal again.

"Princess?" Baldwin knocked before entering, not waiting for your permission. He beamed as he looked at you, walking upto you to kiss your cheek, but frowned immediately. "Princess, you're sweating. Are you okay?"

You wiped the cold sweat quickly. Nodding at him, you changed the subject. "Where are you going?" You asked, looking at his clothes.

"Oh! I'm going hunting! Its been a while, and I read somewhere that bone marrow is very nutritious for the body, so I'm going to hunt some animals for you." He explained ecstatically before grinning at you as he leaned down to your level. "But since its been so long since I last went hunting, I decided I needed some good luck. So... princess, will you bless me with some luck?"

"W-what?" You stammered out at the proximity. He turned his cheek, glancing at you expectantly. Oh, he cant be serious.

"Do you want your king, your soon-to-be husband to die?" He teased, but at the same time, you knew he wouldnt leave until you did what he wanted.

Swallowing thickly, you leaned in slowly and gave him a quick peck on his cheek, right where his dimple appeared when you did. Immediately, he turned face back to you and grabbed your head to steady and planted a wet kiss on your forehead.

"My luckiest charm!" He chuckled, pinching your nose as your flushed. "I'll be back before dinner!" He said on his way out.

3 hours later, you had finally decided to leave. You cant wait until another week and who knows if Baldwin will even let you leave then? What if he figures out that there is no family in Egypt for you and decides to lock you away in the dungeons to be experimented on?

Ironic how you as a scientist will now be a guinea pig for medieval era "scientists".

You had sneaked out of your room without anyone noticing, a feat in itself since the place is crawling with knights and servants.

But of course, Baldwin would've made sure there was at least one person tailing your every move.

"Princess Y/n?" The knight commander of your security detail called out. What were the odds of him leaving his post at the front of the castle, to walk in on you mounting a horse in the stables at the back of this castle? "Where are you going? His Majesty told me that you would be resting in your room today."

You blinked at him, trying to come up with an excuse. "I- I-"

He looked at you with even more concern, however that would start turning into suspicion soon if you don't answer him soon.

"Chapel!" You blurted out. "I- I am going to the royal chapel... to uh- isolate myself."

"Isolate?"

"Y-yes, because of my- um flow. I do not want to risk his majesty or- anyone getting sick because of me." The knight commander seemed satisfied with your explanation. He nodded, signalling a couple of other knights his way. "Very well, princess. Let these knights accompany you to the chapel, and they will keep guard while you isolate yourself inside."

You know he wouldnt let you go without knights, so you dont argue. Besides, the royal chapel is huge. You're sure you can sneak out of there unnoticed by these knights.

At the chapel, you waited until it was dark and the last of the church staff had taken their leave. You had found a small window to squeeze through, but just then, one of the knights knocked on the door of your chapel.

You didnt answer at first, hoping that they'd think you were asleep and dont disturb you again. However, they knocked again, this time with more persistence.

Grumbling, you returned to your bed and messed up your hair, pretending like you just woke up.

"Yes?"

The knight barged in, looking spooked. "A-apologies for waking you up, princess but-! But his majesty-!" You got up from your bed, brows furrowing.

"His Majesty has been injured during the hunt!" He stammered out.

Your eyes widened. Baldwin got injured? The knight began ushering you out of the chapel. "We must return to palace now! Its not safe!"

"What? Why?" You stopped him from helping you mount your horse. He looked at the other knights who were all on high alert as they kept looking around.

"The king was shot by an arrow!"

You were now back at the castle, against your will, so running away will have to wait. You were going to go to your room, but the knight commander ushered you towards Baldwin's.

"Why am I going there?" You asked as he escorted you.

"The king is injured." He replied. "So? Fetch the physicians."

"I did." He stopped to look at you. "But His Majesty has refused them from helping. He asked for you specially."

Oh no. Is he- is he going to make you "heal" him again? But you dont have any of your medicinal potions anymore. So when he realises you cant heal him-

You stood in front of his door.

Will he kill me?

You entered the room, spotting him lying on the bed bare chested, with an arrow stuck in his left shoulder blade.

Baldwin's eyes were closed, but his brows were furrowed in pain, sweat glistening from his entire body.

As you walked near, you spotted the bandages and ointments left by the physicians.

"B-Baldwin?" Your voice was so small, heart thumping against your chest as his eyes fluttered open weakly.

"P-princess?" He sounded so frail. Somehow, despite the state he was in, he managed to smile. "You came?"

You nodded. "You asked for me."

"I did. Only you can heal me from this. Only you can save me from death."

Save him?

You had him sit up to inspect the wound. "I-" Your eyes narrowed at the wound, and then at his face.

"Baldwin." He hummed weakly in response. Gritting your teeth, you ripped out the arrow from his shoulder, making him gasp in pain. "What did you do that for?!"

You waved the arrow in his face. "This hadnt penetrated through your shoulder! It wasnt even in that deep!" You threw the arrow to your side. "You werent dying! You're not even close to dying!"

He pouted, rubbing his shoulder where a small hole was. "So? It still hurt. Just bandage me-"

"Why didnt you have the physicians do it for you?!"

"Why would I when I have you? Come on, nurse me back to health, princess." He sighed when you glared at him. "Okay fine. I only called for you because well- you've been very distant with me."

Your nostril flared. "And whose fault is that?" You gritted out before turning to leave.

"Wait, princess-" He called out from behind. You werent going to listen to another word- another lie! Twisting the handle, you opened the door, only for it to be slammed shut by hand coming over you.

"Princess~" Baldwin turned you around, pushing you against the door as he locked it. "You arent going anywhere until we clear this out."

You pushed him away. "I dont want to clear it out." Baldwin's brows rose at your harsh tone. You turned around to leave again but Baldwin grabbed your wrist, tugging you to his chest.

"Y/n." His eyes pierced through you. "Why are you acting like this?"

You didnt answer. "Let me go, Baldwin." "No. Answer me-" "Let me go, Baldwin." "Princess, youre being unfair to me. What did I do to deserve such harshness from the one person I love the most-"

"You kissed Charlotte."

The color drained from his face, and the shock of being caught made him release your wrist. "Did Charlotte tell you this?"

Before either of you could react, you slapped him. Baldwin stared at you in shock, holding his cheek. You just slapped a king- the king of the HOLY LAND, but you honestly couldnt bring yourself to care about the conseuquences of your actions.

You backed away from him as tears pooled into your eyes. "You arent even denying it. You kissed her."

"Charlotte kissed me-"

"But you didnt push her back!" You screamed, tears finally flowing free. "I saw it- I fucking saw it, Baldwin!"

"Y/n listen to me-"

"If you loved Charlotte, if you planned on getting back with her, why did you propose to me?! I never wanted to marry you, Baldwin, so why did you lead me on?!"

"Thats not true! Just listen-"

"As if fooling around my back wasnt enough, you let her stay inside the castle even after I had returned! I mean I get you didnt think you would ever get to do it due to leprosy, but how desperate did you have to be to bed her while I was still in the castle?!"

"ENOUGH!" He roared, face red from rage. "You will calm down right now, or I will make you calm down!"

You looked at him betrayed and hurt, as Baldwin closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his his nose, taking deep breaths to collect himself.

"You've accused me of something. I deserve to explain myself." He stated.

"Charlotte and I were engaged when we were just children. Her father used to work for my father, as a knight. When he was on his deathbed due to getting wounded gravely when he saved my father, he made me promise that I would always take care of Charlotte." He paused before continuing. "When I found out I had leprosy, I broke off our engagement and when she came of age, I found her a suitable noble to marry. Eventually, they had a son. Her husband... he eventually lost all of his land and money in a gamble. So I tried to help Charlotte financially over the years, because I was the one who found her this man. She didnt deserve to be married to such man."

He recalled the events. "One day, Charlotte wrote to me that her husband had fallen sick. Terribly so. He kept on coughing and coughing until he began hacking up blood. My physicians told me that he had pthisis as the Greeks call it, or "consumption."

You remember studying about medival diseases- one of which was "consumption". Or in modern day- "Tuberculosis."

"I tried to help out, but there was no cure. The man died a slow and painful death. Charlotte loved her husband, despite all his faults, so his death did take a toll on her mentally. I continued to support her, but there was only so much I could do as a leper king. Things seemed to be going well until last year, when her son fell sick. The physicians said he was suffering with consumption as well, but it was still in the early stages so they had hope they could treat it. They took his son with them to the infirmary in Byzantine, where the best possible care would be provided for him. I made sure of it." He sighed. "But the odds were not in his favour. I got a letter from the head physician that Charlotte's son would not survive the winter. Charlotte was there with her son, day and night, she'd never leave his side. The physicians told her about her son's life expectancy. As expected, she was devastated, but at least now she could prepare herself and spend the rest of his days together."

"Then I announced our engagement, and I didnt write to Charlotte because I didnt think it would be appropriate to share this news with her at such a pivotal time. However, news must've reached her about my leprosy being cured and before I knew it, she was here. You were still in Egypt when Charlotte came, and she wanted to meet you. At first I thought it was because she wanted to congratulate you, but I found out that it was because she-" Baldwin shook his head, before looking right at you. "She thought you could cure her son."

"What? Why would she-" Of course, everyone thinks youre made of magic because of Baldwin.

"That's not the worst part. Charlotte's son was already dead before she had even reached Jerusalem. The physician informed me of his death, and that he had warned Charlotte of it too, but she still came here instead of being with her son."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "She came here because you asked her to-"

"I didnt! Why would I do that? Especially when you werent even here to help her?" Baldwin took a deep breath before continuing on. "When I informed her of her son's death- She lost it. She lost herself. I just- I promised to take care of her, Y/n."

"So you kissed her? To make her fall in love with you? Was that the plan?"

"I didnt kiss her, she kissed me!" Baldwin gritted out. "Even after her son's death, she wanted to meet you so that you could bring her son back to life. No matter how much I explained that it isnt possible to bring him back, she wouldnt listen. I told her that you're not some sort of witch that cast a spell to cure me-"

"So why did she kiss you?" You cut him off.

Baldwin licked his lips. "Charlotte knew the story of how you cured me. She figured that if she cant get you, then she can have me help her. In her head, she thought that since I drank your water that had your saliva, I had your essence- your healing abilities in me. So, she kissed me."

He could see the realisation dawning on you. Charlotte kissed him to get your "healing power"?

"I didnt push her back- because I was surprised. And then I pitied her. I didnt know how to break it to her again that nothing can bring her son back. That she was all alone now. Because of me. I had her marry that man, who got consumption, and then his son contracted it as well. I am the reason for her losing everything!" His eyes twinkled with tears, but he didnt let one tear slip.

Wait a minute. If Baldwin knew her son was dying and didnt call her here, then-

You closed your eyes. Fucking Guy.

Of course, only he'd be the one to address the letter as "King Baldwin IV". And you already figured out why he called Charlotte.

"We can kill Baldwin by making him sick again" Guy thought that Charlotte would bring her son, or at the very least bring a series of diseases from the Byzantine infirmary to infect Baldwin with.

Fucking idiot.

Baldwin took your hands in his. "Princess, I never cheated on you. I know I should've told you about Charlotte but... I didnt want to burden you. You already are busy trying to find your family and when you returned, you were tired and then you had your flow. I just- I didnt want to pile up more stuff on you." His hand cupped your cheek tenderly. "You know that I love you. You know that my affection for you is real. Thats why it hurt you so much when saw you her kissing me, because deep down, you knew I wouldn't betray you like this."

His blue were firm as he spoke the next words with conviction.

"You are the beginning of my soul. And you are the end of it."

Tears slipped down your face as you felt him kiss your forehead before wrapping you in his arms, continuing to kiss your forehead again and again.

Finally, you wrapped your arms around him, nodding. Accepting.

Sniffling, you pulled away before tugging him to sit on the bed as you began bandaging his shoulder. Fortunately, the wound wasnt too deep, so you didnt need to introduce "sutures" to medieval era.

Baldwin smiled softly as you tied his bandage, taking your hand and pressing a kiss on top of it. "I'm all better now." You smiled sadly.

"What?" He asked you. You sniffled again. "Princess, what is it?" He pulled you to sit on his lap, tapping your chin.

"I slapped you." You reminded him.

He nodded. "I remember."

"I'm sorry." "I know." He smiled assuringly. Honestly, you were so overcome with emotion that you hadnt realised the risk you took. Baldwin could've easily had your head chopped off at the offence.

"You're not mad?" You whispered, peeking at him from your lashes. He hummed thoughtfully. "No, not mad. I am hurt by your lack of trust me in though, but I take half the blame in this as you did see someone kissing me." He grinned at you. "I do know how you can make it up to me though."

You raised a brow.

"How about... you and I..." he tipped your chin to meet his eyes as he leaned close. "... cuddle tonight?"

"You want cuddles?" You asked, lips quirking at his childishness. He nodded excitedly. "Yes. As you know, I am gravely injured, I need all the love and attention from my beloved angel~" You squealed as he pulled you down with him on the mattress, bursting into giggles as he kissed your cheeks again and again.

After 10 minutes or so of you playing with his hair as he dreamily sighed, you suddenly had a question.

"Baldwin?" He hummed. "How did you get an arrow in your shoulder? You went hunting animals with knights."

Baldwin, with his eyes still closed, replied. "If I tell you, you'll get mad."

You tugged at his hair, making him open one eye. "Baldwin~" You warned.

"Fine, fine, I'll tell you." He rested his head on his palm. "Well, since you were being distant to me and the knight commander told me you had housed yourself in the royal chapel under the excuse of "not wanting to make me sick", I figured I need to find a way to make you be close to me..."

Your face dropped at realisation.

"YOU SHOT YOURSELF WITH AN ARROW?!"

He shook his head in disbelief. "No, dont be silly. How would that be even possible?" You sighed in relief.

"I threatened my expert archer to shoot me with an arrow."

Sibylla burst through the door as soon as she had heard of her brother's grave injury, only to witness an odd sight:

Baldwin, with his shoulder bandaged, was doing sit-ups in front of Y/n, who was sitting on his bed, glaring at him with angry tears streaming down her face.

"Princess~ I said I'm sorryyyyy" Sibylla giggled, watching her younger sibling whine to you, but he shut up as another tear slipped down your cheek.

So, thoughts?

None of you guessed that reason for the kiss,did you? I better fucking get all the comments and asks or else I'm wreaking havoc

Part 6 is here!

#yandere king baldwin #yandere x darling #yandere baldwin #king baldwin iv #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere boyfriend #obsessive yandere #baldwin iv #king baldwin x reader

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rafeandonlyrafe · 5 months

Text

deliveries

words: 1.2k

warnings: ex!rafe, reconciliation, kinda sugar daddy rafe but he just likes taking care of his girl mhm iktr

“can i say no?” you sigh.

“say no? did you not place this delivery?” the man raises his eyebrows.

“i didn't. my- my ex did.”

“well, i have to deliver it, ma’am, but i don't care what you do with it afterwards. give it to your friends or throw it out.” the man sets the bags of food at your doorstep, snapping a picture before walking off.

you can't blame him, plus it's probably a situation he's never encountered before.

you sigh as you pick up the bags, carrying them into the kitchen counter. packages, deliveries and letters have been showing up on your doorstep for two weeks, ever since you broke up with rafe.

you're sick of it at this point. as you go through the food, picking out something to eat for dinner (you're not just gonna let it go to waste!) you grab your phone and unblock rafes number.

you wonder how long it will take him to realize as you sit at your desk and eat. you're in an apartment complex with pretty tight security, it's the only reason why rafe isn't knocking at your door himself, instead sending whoever he can to get a message to you, while simultaneously making sure you have plenty of food to eat and things to take care of yourself with.

you answer your phone after the first ring. you deleted his contact, but rafes number is forever memorized in your head.

“stop sending me things.”

“baby, its a relief to hear your voice again.” rafe sighs, sounding genuinely happy, like a weight is suddenly off his chest. “please, let me just talk to you. i miss you so much.”

“no, rafe. we broke up. you need to stop.”

“why'd you break up with me? what did you tell me princess?” rafe questions. “i wasn't giving you enough attention. now im giving you everything. please, y/n.” he pleads. “im not going to stop.”

you take a deep sigh. you really love rafe, despite your relationship being only six months old when you broke up with him, it was just too much. too much attention from your friends and too much pressure from his family. it pushed your relationship farther apart until rafe barely paid attention to you, receiving constant questions from his dad and friends.

“you have to, rafe. clearly things weren't working out. we tried. we can say that. gave it a fair shot.”

“im not done trying. yes, i let my family and other people get into my head about our relationship, but im done with that bullshit. i want you back.”

“let me think about it, okay?” it's an olive branch. the best thing that you can extend right now.

“okay.” rafe agrees. “how about i call you friday?”

you glance at the calendar hanging over your desk. two days. two days to think. you're not sure it's enough or too much.

“that works… but rafe, stop sending me stuff.”

“i can't, baby.” you can practically see the way he's shaking his head right now. “gotta take care of my girl, even if you don't wanna see me.”

“fine.” you groan. you know there's no talking rafe out of it. “order me some lemonade next time then.”

you yawn as you wake up with a big stretch, instinctively reaching over to the other side of the bed. your hand pats the sheets before remembering that you left rafe.

you slide out of bed, heading towards your kitchen to get something for breakfast when a knock on your door interrupts you.

“one second!” you're in pajamas, but they're far too small and tight to answer the door in. you rush back into your bedroom and pull a robe on to cover up.

“hi!” the delivery woman smiles. “y/n?”

“yup.” you nod, stepping to the side. “do you mind just setting it down on the counter?”

the woman places the bags down before saying goodbye and seeing herself out. you sigh and look into the bags, eyes bulging when you see velvet boxes carefully placed inside one of them.

you pull out one of the boxes, gasping when a beautiful diamond necklace is revealed. you continue to open them, realizing rafe bought you jewelry of almost every variety.

“oh, gosh.” you grab a note, opening it to see his handwriting.

it's just what you deserve. i love you and want you back. can't wait to talk to you tomorrow.

rafe

p.s. i paid your rent for the next three months

you grab your phone before even looking in the other bag, dialing rafes number. he picks up almost instantly.

“you know you can't buy my love, right?”

“im not trying to.” rafe says. “im just trying to take care of you. did you get the breakfast?”

you peek into the other bag, seeing a stack of delicious looking pancakes inside a clear container, as well as some other options.

“yeah, ill eat it in a minute.”

“good.” you can practically hear rafes smile over the phone.

“how about we meet up in person to talk tomorrow instead of on the phone?”

“ill go wherever you want.”

“our first date.” is all you say before hanging up, grabbing the pancakes and container holding scrambled eggs.

you're aware you didn't say what time as you pull up to the pier. it's a warm day, sunny with almost no clouds in the sky, but a light breeze gives you the perfect amount of cooling.

you walk down the pier, unable to hold back your smile when you see rafe sitting on the bench where you ate ice cream on your first date after finally agreeing to let him take you out.

rafe watches you carefully as you sit down next to him.

“you're wearing the necklace i got you.” he smiles, seeing the gold chain around your neck.

“i am.” you nod.

“can i… can i hug you? ive missed you so much baby.”

you nod again, not sure you can find your voice as rafes arms wrap around your body, holding you into his side. you snuggle into his chest, eyes sliding shut.

“love you so much.” rafe says, pressing kisses to the top of your head. “so much i messed up the first time not trying to be too obsessed. i just didn't want to make you run away, turns out i did the exact opposite and you felt ignored. you know how my dad is…” rafe trails off as you pick your head up to look at him.

“we shouldn't have let others get between us.” you know you're not innocent in it either, contributing just as much to rafe to the tension that had grown between the two of you.

“and we won't let it happen again now that we know.” rafe says, a promising look in his eyes. you swear it looks like he might cry as you nod.

he ducks his head, pressing your lips together in a sweet kiss. you fist your hands in his shirt, keeping him close as you kiss back, having missed his lips on yours more than you'd like to admit.

“does this mean you'll tell security im allowed back in?” rafe laughs gently, cupping your face, his thumb gently stroking over your cheek.

“hmm, i guess.” you giggle.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @sourkittie @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @raysmayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut @drewsephrry @1aarii1 @bejeweledreverie @winterrrnight

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sturnsdarling · 23 days

Text

'I get them too, sometimes'

y/n has an anxiety attack, and bff!matt calms her down the only way he can think of in the moment

vibe check: detailed anxiety attack, comforting!matt, anxious!reader, fluffy ending cute vibes all round

1.5k words

A/N: WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN anyways this is based on the iconic stydia scene where stiles has a panic attack and lydia kisses him. I was gonna do it where Matt had the anxiety attack but it felt icky so I swapped it round. as an anxious girlie this was weirdly comforting to write and PART TWO IS HERE

love and cigs, merc

The boys' house was vibrating with the thump of music from every corner. People were pouring in through the front door, all mingling in the living room as Chris' party playlist blared through the speakers. Almost everyone in the influencer space was there, and you felt like the odd one out.

The boys' had begged you to come, pulling the 'it wont be the same without you' card as they all glared at you with puppy eyes. They knew parties weren't really your thing but, it was a celebration for them hitting seven million on their youtube channel and, you knew you couldn't miss it. So after some begging and bribing with 'literally anything you want from that weird old book shop in downtown' you agreed to go.

You felt like you were wearing a sign that said, in big bold letters; 'I don't belong here' as you lent against the kitchen counter, nursing some liquid courage. Chris was on the sofa, his laughter booming over the music as he sat with Nate and some boys you didn't recognise. Nick was at the drink station, making cocktails with the girls, pretending to be a bartender as he tired, and failed, at bar flares, making everyone around him curl over with laughter, as usual. Matt was on the other side of the kitchen, talking to some people about whatever show he was obsessed with at the moment and peering over at you occasionally to make sure you were okay.

More and more people started to pile into the house, more people than you even thought they knew, and at the sight of tens of faces you didn't know, a tight feeling started to form in your chest. You knew you were okay, because you had the boys, but they were off mingling and doing their rounds and you didn't exactly want to follow them around like a lost puppy.

You put your drink down, walking over to the sink to fill a red cup with water, your hand shaking slightly as you brought the cup to your mouth. You took a gulp and closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in and reminding yourself that you were fine, and you were in the boys' house. You knew that they wouldn't invite anyone that they didn't trust in their home and just kept reminding yourself of that.

An already drunk and giggly girl barged into the kitchen, flayling about without a care in the world as she backed up into you, knocking your drink from your hand and nearly pushing you into the sink.

"oh, shit, m'so sorry babe" she said as you turned around slightly. She placed a soft hand on your shoulder and squeezed it, "oh my god you're so pretty what the fuck!" she squealed, "m'sorry for spilling your drink" she slurred, sauntering away as you forced a smile.

Despite the somewhat sweet interaction, something about it made your fingers go numb, your chest tightening at the feeling of your wet shirt clinging to your skin. The walls started to close in and you felt as if you could feel the world turning on its axis. Your breath felt like sand paper against your throat as you tried to steady your rapid heart rate and failed.

You pushed your way through the crowds of people and b-lined for Matt's room, your knees nearly buckling under you as you desperately tried to calm your breathing.

As if he could feel your energy change, Matt instinctively looked for you in the crowd, catching a glimpse of your frame as you ducked between people, near enough running to his room.

"I'll be right back" he said to the guy in front of him, placing his drink down and following you through the crowd, calling out your name as he did.

You fumbled at the door handle, pushing yourself inside Matts room as your vision began to blur. Your chest was heaving up and down with rapid breaths, every inhale felt nearly impossible and everything around you was pulsating, your vision turning to a fishbowl as you clawed at your chest.

"y/n/n" Matt entered the room, searching for you in the dim light.

You turned to face him, your eyes brimming with tears as you pressed hard fingers into your sternum, Matts eyes widened at the sight of you and he shut the door, coming to you in an instant, gentle hands on your shoulders as he tried to keep them in one place.

"hey, hey, you're okay, you're okay" He repeated, knowing immediately what was happening.

"I can't - I can't breathe" you stuttered out, pleading eyes burning holes into his. Your knees buckled from under you, feeling like the world was shifting under your feet.

Matt followed you to the floor, hands still gripping your shoulders. "Its okay, breathe with me, okay?" He said, taking a long inhale and encouraging you to copy him, his eyes baring into yours.

You tried to mimic his movements, a shaky breath rattling through your nose. Matt breathed out, nodding as he did and you did the same, the feeling in your chest only worsening, it felt like someone had tied a belt round your shoulders, and was pulling it closed as tight as they could around your chest, watching with a smile as the breath left your lungs.

You clenched your eyes closed and shook your head, "s'not working, Matt, nothing is working" a small sob left you as you grew more and more frustrated.

His jaw clenched at the sight of your shaking frame, feeling utterly helpless as you clawed at your chest. He brought his hands to cup your cheeks, bringing your head up to look at him.

"Its okay, y/n, m'right here, I'm right here" he poured into you, not letting you break eye contact as he tried to breathe as slowly as possible.

His thumbs stroked soft touches against your cheek, his eyes racing around your face as you desperately tried to catch your breath. Your eyes flitted back and forth between his, searching for solace in his face, feeling like the walls were closing in around you. Matts eyes fell to your lips, and quickly met your eyes once more. Your brows furrowed in frustration, eyes running circles around his features as his lips parted slightly.

Before you could register what was happening, Matt pulled you into him, crashing his lips against yours in a soft yet strong kiss.

Your eyes widened at the feeling, Matts soft lips pressed against yours as he held you tight against his face. After a moment in the embrace, your shoulders relaxed and your eyes closed, and you started to kiss him back, your arms limp by your sides.

In that moment, you felt as if nothing mattered. Your heart rate slowed and you took a calm, steady breath in through your nose. Matt pulled away from the kiss, hands still wrapped around your face as you took a long breath out through your parted mouth. Matts eyes fluttered open and he let his hands drop down to his knees. Your eyes met his, slow breaths engulfing your lungs.

"h - how did you do that?" you asked in a breathy tone

"I um - I saw somewhere that the best way to stop a panic attack is by holding your breath, so" he muttered, averting his gaze from yours.

"so, when you kissed me" you began to speak

"you held your breath" he looked back up at you, bringing his lips inside themselves, the taste of your lip balm dancing on his tongue.

You smiled, a final, relieved breath leaving your lips as you stared into him.

"thankyou" your gaze was soft and utterly grateful, doe eyes pouring into his as he shuffled where he sat.

"of course" he shrugged, looking down to the floor

You sat in silence for a moment, not a trace of awkwardness hung in the air.

"I get them too, sometimes" Matt said as he toyed with a piece of lint on the floor.

"you do?" you said, still looking at him

"mhm" he nodded, meeting your eye-line, slightly taken back by you already looking at him, "feels like the whole world is crumbling around you, shits' not fun"

"yeah" you chuckled, relaxing where you sat.

"d'you - do you wanna hang out in here for a bit? I can stay with you" Matt said, his eye contact wavering at the offer only to return to you once more.

"oh you don't - you don't have to do that, Matt, you'll miss your party" you shook your head.

"I don't really like parties anyway" he replied, "I'd honestly rather sit here with you on the floor all night" he chuckled, gesturing to the floor.

You smiled as a soft laugh left your nose, "okay" you said.

"yeah?" his head shot up to meet your gaze.

"yeah." you nodded

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10

#©sturnsdarling #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x you #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo fanfic

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hopelessdazai · 5 months

Text

✿ 》 Will you talk to me again?

╰⧼ 🪻 note.. ⧽ ; I don't expect this to do well because its not smut but it'd be nice !! reblogs appreciated, support your creators :)

╰⧼ ☀️ features.. ⧽ ; dazai x gn!reader, WC ; 784

╰⧼ 🌙 contents.. ⧽ ; angst, reader isn't alive, letter from dazai. he's trying very hard to keep himself stable but it's not working™.

To my dearest ______ .

It's been a while, hasn't it? I hope you don't mind me writing to you like this, it's simply been too long. I'm sure you're still angry at me, so seeing you physically isn't my best interest right now! haha, I'm sorry. you know I'm just joking around, don't you? I'd love to see you in person. I'm sure you would've punched my arm if you heard me out loud right now, wouldn't you? I'm glad I'm spared of the bruises.

what does someone put in a letter? that's what I was asking myself before I even began writing. I decided that the best way to do something like this was to just write whatever I feel true as pen touches paper. I hope it makes sense to you, at the least. if I'm pouring my heart out on some paper only for it to be misunderstood, it feels like a waste, no?

though, i'd be lying if i said it wouldn't be rather cute to see you try to fathom what I mean. did you know you scrunch your nose like a bunny sometimes when you're reading? I'm sure you're doing that now too. you'll get wrinkles very at this rate ..

but anyway, I managed to prank kunikida the other day! you remember that hair dye trick I'd told you about? I managed to break into his apartment and swap out his shampoo, at last! he came into work the next day with black hair, it was hilarious, you should've been here! he was so angry with me. beat me black and blue!

oh, _____. I got a new heated blanket for our bed, you know? it took a while to save up for it, and I had to cut out some other necessities, sure. but it makes everything so much better! I hate cold beds, I'm sure you know that better then anyone. haha, back before we moved in together when I'd break into your apartment and crawl into bed with you. I'm sorry for the amount of locks I broke, but your place was so cozy!

... you know, it's been really hard without you here. I miss you so painfully, and I don't mean to call into the void without even an echo, but its killing me to pretend I'm fine about any of this. I'm not fine with this, how am I supposed to be? I wish it was just a bad dream.

I don't want to have to write letters to you anymore, ______. I don't want to have to buy heated blankets to try and stop my arms from aching for your warmth. I don't want you to be angry with me, I'm sorry I didn't apologise to you before you were gone. I shouldn't have been so stupid.

i had so many words on my mind that I was too afraid to say. maybe if I faced myself and told you 'I love you' it would've stopped you leaving.

have you met odasaku yet? has he told you any stories of his time? I wish I could hear your voice again. I wish you could answer my questions. even to hear you scoff at my stupidity again would heal me. I'm sorry I was annoying, I just wanted your attention. it stings knowing I'll never get it again.

I can't keep repeating to myself that you're not gone. I can't keep buying your perfume and pretending that you're in the next room over. your pillow doesn't smell like you anymore.

I wish I could apologise properly. I wish I could've stopped you from leaving the house that night. I wish I could kill myself to join you and yet I know we won't cross paths again in the afterlife. you were always too good for me, ______. i was nothing compared to you.

i picked up a homeless dog yesterday. you'd always wanted a puppy, I'm sorry I never let you bring one home. I named it after you. im trying to get used to them, I promise. if I couldn't save you, I'll save your name.

I'm sorry. if I continue writing, my throat will hurt more. its strange, isn't it? crying makes your throat sore. I forgot what it was like for a while, I remember laying in your arms wondering if I'd ever have a reason to cry again. now I can't seem to help myself.

keep your wings clean for me, white looks good on you. its a shame you couldn't wear the wedding attire i wished to see you in one day. you would've looked amazing.

I'll write again, missing you is the greatest honor.

sincerely, your osamu.

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ataraxiaspainting · 4 months

Text

Dreams Come True.

Yan Giorno x F Reader.

Synopsis: Giorno likes to hold you close sometimes in his dreams… and in his dreams alone, because the real you doesn’t let him. It’s fine though, he tells himself.

Warnings: Yandere themes, manipulation, and kidnapping.

Word Count: 1.5k.

*~*~*~*

There is a small door hidden behind Giorno’s vanity.

He does not reside in the master bedroom anymore–as he willingly chose to accommodate you with the privileges he no longer possesses. You’d make better use of it than he ever did, he thought. The once bare walls now have bookshelves all around, antiques sitting prettily up high on unreachable shelves, and there are soft piano sounds coming from the radio he gave you. Though if you ever wanted to learn piano yourself he would gladly hire a tutor for you, albeit one who has sworn a blood oath and has been a trusted staff member of his for years.

Giorno’s new bedroom is as empty as the last, with only writing utensils and piles upon piles of paper stacked on his sole desk, the trash can underneath be full of torn letters Giorno will have someone burn later. He has only dared to send you perhaps two letters, both of which were instantly sent back to whence they came. One of the letters was sent when you had first arrived here, being placed underneath the tiny slit between the floor and the door. It was past dinner time then, and since the guards stationed outside your quarters had heard no movement from inside your room, they had told the nearest butler that you were most likely asleep and would not be reading the letter until the morning.

Giorno had some second thoughts once he had heard the news, and nearly instantly wanted the letter to be rewritten, seeing it as an opportunity to fix mistakes visible to only him. That very butler opened the door with his assigned key and then saw you huddled in the corner covered by a blanket. The butler had asked if you had seen the letter on the floor, and you said you did not want to read it.

Very well, Miss [First].

The butler locked the door when he was done with his task, escorting the letter gently in his gloved palms like it was an esteemed guest.

Giorno tore the paper to shreds, throwing it into the trash can like the many others that had come before it. Dozens of them all written within a week, even though you hadn’t been here for nearly a day. Some are more eloquent than others. Some are just mere scribbles, signs of Giorno’s frustration at himself. If he could, he would have torn himself to shreds too. However, something in the back of his mind said that that was the coward’s way out, and if he were not here who else would be able to protect you?

No one. You’ll be all alone. A baby bird waiting for its mother to come back with worms. You’d chirp and chirp, desperate, but no one would help you. He can hear it now.

The second letter was sent just now, with the very same butler holding it gently in his hands. Giorno can hear the small heels of his shoes as he walks down the hall to the master bedroom. He looks at the vanity, choosing to ignore all of the clutter on it and instead pushing it toward the far right corner of the room. There the door was. It was dustier than when Giorno had seen it last, but he did not mind it in the slightest.

The key to it was inside a copy of one of your favorite books. Chapter VIII, page 93. This part had one of your favorite quotes. Giorno knows it all too well, he spent day and night reading this novel again and again after all.

“Oh yes,” said the other mother. “I put her in there myself. And when I found her trying to crawl out, I put her back.”

A rather grim quote you chose, but Giorno does not judge your interests.

The key is colder than the one used to open the door to your bedroom. It’s heavier and darker too. But it goes into the lock just as smoothly with a thunk.

The hallway beyond is dark. There is dust floating in the air, and a stinky, musty smell.

Tucking his feet beneath him as he crawls, Giorno closes the door behind him. He doesn’t lock it, however. No one has ever seen where this corridor leads, and Giorno would rather die than have someone destroy his paradise.

Perhaps one day it will be yours too.

“I don’t want it.”

“Miss [First], while I do understand this situation has been less than acceptable for you, you must at least try to understand that the master has been attempting to be accommodating for you.” Giorno hears the butler say.

“I agree with Franz.” The head maid adds.

“I don’t care what you think,” You reply. Giorno can practically hear you gripping the skirt of your dress. “I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care. All of you can just go to hell.”

When Giorno places his right ear on the other side of the tiny corridor, he hears a slight squeak. It seems your vanity was not placed correctly, something he will have a servant remedy soon. Its purpose is supposed to be the same as Giorno’s; to keep this sacred place hidden from you until it is time.

“That isn’t very kind. If you really cannot read this letter at the moment, it shall be placed on your writing desk, and you will read it by tomorrow night. Is this a fair arrangement?”

“Just what part of that is fair?”

Someone sighed then. Giorno is unsure as to who made the sound. The butler and you? You and the head maid? There are infinite possibilities for that very question. It lingers at the back of his mind, yearning to be scratched.

He hears your door close, and that is the very signal he needs. He crawls back through the tunnel to his bedroom and locks the entrance with the very same key. The key retreats to page 93 once again. Giorno then places it on the highest shelf. His mission is accomplished.

“Did you hear everything, Master?” The butler asks through Giorno’s bedroom door. “I can catch you up on details if that is not the case if that is alright with you.”

“Yes, I did. Grazie.”

He hears the butler’s shoes clacking as he leaves this part of the mansion.

He, in turn, sighs.

“Master,” A high-pitched voice calls, accompanied by a soft knock. “I brought you your dinner.”

Giorno does not respond. Instead, he sits on the chair beside his writing desk. His eyes meet the ceiling. There are images of clouds, rainbows, and most importantly cherubs, their bright red cheeks and happy smiles stirring something from within him.

He wants what they have. Pure joy.

But because of that, Giorno considers hiring someone to repaint the ceiling.

“Master?”

Giorno closes his eyes, not wanting to see the bleak reality anymore.

“Master?” A male voice asks, knocking on the door louder than the woman. “Master? Are you alright? Clervie brought you your supper. It is your favorite. Spaghetti al nero di seppia.”

Giorno lets his imagination run free within the depths of his mind. He sees you kissing his cheek, and him kissing yours. He sees you two huddling by the fireplace during the winter months with hot cups of tea. He sees you looking outside the dining room’s largest window to see the stars and moon. He sees himself watching you, not willing to break the peaceful image.

He is truly unworthy of you, that much is true. But if he is unworthy of you, everyone else is just more unworthy than he is.

“Master? Are you alright? Do you want Clervie to come back later?”

Giorno speaks up, slouching forward in his seat. “I’m sorry, but I am just not hungry at the moment.”

The butler hums. “Alright… then have a good night, Master.”

“You too, Franz.” He answers. “And… you too, Clervie.”

When they leave, Giorno relaxes once more in his chair. Little by little, the surrounding sounds vanish. They are replaced with auras fading from black to blue to pink and then to teal. He starts snoring a few moments later. Absolute bliss for someone who has been stressed out for weeks on end.

“...[First]...”

The last thing he sensed from the real world was the candle on his desk, smelling like a warm day on the beach.

It isn’t an easy time going back into consciousness. Those same auras Giorno saw with his eyes closed are still there when he arises from his slumber. Black. Blue. Pink. Teal. If it had been a pleasant dream, perhaps Giorno would have even found it beautiful.

He rubs his eyes. “Ugh…”

The first thing he recognizes in his vision is the pictures of you on the vanity, still out of place from hours before. He remembers nothing of his dream, as always. That is, aside from one thing. Your voice, for once soft and focused on him.

I love you.

“Hm…” He grumbles.

“Master?” The second thing he recognizes is Franz’s signature knock. “It’s urgent. [First] has–”

With the sound of your name, Giorno rises quicker than someone coming back from the dead.

#yandere #yandere x reader #author aya #yandere giorno giovanna #yandere giorno #yandere giorno x reader #yandere giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x reader #giorno giovanna x reader #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #jjba x reader #yandere jjba #yandere jjba x reader

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kayhi808 · 2 months

Text

First Crush - 6

After the park, all Abby could talk about was her day with Bucky. Even when her eyes were closed, she kept chatting away, past her bedtime. Part of you found it adorable & the other part had you worried. Abby is way to attached for your liking.

Jason was an absent father, but that still doesn't mean Abby didn't miss him or wasn't affected by his death. He died in a plane crash. His daredevil ways that first attracted you to him was the same reason you were alone now. He wasn't brave & heroic, dying for his country or on a mission. He was foolish and selfish, hot-dogging it when he lost control of his aircraft. Most people dropped the subject after you say he died in a plane crash, assuming it was work related. He was stupid. Always chasing the next high. The next rush. He had a wife and baby at home. He should have been thinking of you and Abby.

You couldn't deny the attraction you felt to Bucky, but look at his job. He was an Avenger for God's sake! The bad guys he chases were much worse than your common criminals. The risks were much higher. You were second-guessing you decision in exposing Abby to Bucky. Not that you could truly stop it. Abby was drawn to him at first sight.

*****

"There you are." Bucky enters your office & sits in the chair opposite your desk.

Pushing your lunch to the side, "Hey Buck, did you need something?"

"For the past couple days I thought I'd see you in the cafeteria."

"Sounds like high school," laughing, "I was studying in the library." Bucky frowns at you, "I usually bring home lunch so i eat in my office. It's easier."

Leaning forward, "Well, tomorrow, would you have lunch with me? We don't have to stay here. We can go to this diner around the corner. Their burgers are pretty great." He picks up that you're unsure. "C'mon, doll. I know you want to."

You laugh at his ego. I mean, he wasn't wrong. "Ok."

"I'll swing by around 1p. Is that too late?"

"No, that's fine."

"Then its a date."

"It's not a date. It's lunch." He doesn't say anything, just gives you a look. Its a date.

******

That night at the gym with Sam, Sam broaches a subject that the others were shying away from. "I saw you leaving with Y/N earlier."

"We went to the diner for lunch."

"So, what's going on with you two?"

Bucky shrugs, "Just 2 friends having lunch."

"MmmHmmm. Do you know what you're doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Y/N's a special breed. She's a single mother. She don't need you wasting her time. You take on extra responsibilities if you start dating her."

"Relax."

"I'm just saying, you can easily find someone else to kill time with. You string her along, she's not the only one you'll be hurting. From what i hear, her daughter is obsessed with you."

"We went on a picnic & lunch. We're still figuring out what this is."

"And that's fine. Just keep in mind she brings more to the table than just herself."

"Ok, got it. Lecture over?"

Sam shrugs and leaves the gym.

*****

"Mama?"

"Yes."

"When am I seeing Bucky again?"

"I don't know, baby. He's very busy with work." You feel a little guilty at how badly Abby wants to see Bucky & you've been having lunch with him everyday for the past couple weeks. He's been dropping by your office with his own lunch to spend time with you.

"Can I asks him? I can draws him a letter." You laugh but stop when you see the earnest little look on her face.

"You know what? That sounds like a very good idea. Maybe you can invite him over to watch a movie & then dinner?"

Abby screams, climbing on the couch to give you a wet kiss on your cheek. "Bucky comes to my house??"

You release a deep breath, "Yes, you can invite him here." She runs off to her room to draw his letter. You lean your head back on the couch hoping you made the right choice.

*****

LIke clockwork, Bucky shows up at 1pm for lunch with you. You slide Abby's drawing across the desk to him. He has a smile on his face even before he opens it. When he opens it, his smile freezes and he looks between you and Abby's drawing. You cover your lips with your fingertips while you watch him, trying to suppress a smile.

"Doll, you're going to have to help me out here. Wh...what am I looking at?"

"What? You can't figure it out?" Bucky is put on the spot. "You're lucky Abby isn't here." You tap the left side of the picture. "What's this?"

"It looks like guts and eyeballs."

"Bucky!!"

"I don't know."

"It's spaghetti and meatballs."

"Oh! Ok. So this is us," indicating 3 stick figures in the middle. "And...I need help again. "This isn't brains."

"Jesus! You're terrible at this. It's a bowl of popcorn. Abby is trying to invite you over for a movie and dinner at our place."

Bucky laughs so hard, he has to rest his head on your desk. "So, I'm not invited over to commit a murder, because I don't do that anymore."

"My baby does NOT murder people! I'm not sure I want you over anymore."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry." He grabs your hand from across the desk & kisses your knuckles. "Please don't take away the invite. I want to come over."

"Will you be free this Saturday?"

"Yes, I leave next week for a mission, but I'll be here on Saturday."

"Ok," you text him your address. "Maybe 3p? It'll be after her nap & we can watch a movie before dinner."

"Thank you, I'll be there." He give you his charming smile & you have to look away. You hope this isn't a mistake.

Next Chapter

@waywardhunter95 @wintrsoldrluvr @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @crazyunsexycool @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @ozwriterchick @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @enchantedbarnes @purplecolordeer @samsgirl93 @buckitostan

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x abigail rose #sam wilson

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hoodedjelly · 19 days

Text

Sleep walk BTS post!

will go in depth with my process and put better quality drawings in here!

Before any of this i was listening to several fiddauthor/ford playlists to hear a song that really got my brain moving. Funny enough i didn't get Sleep walk from one of the 100+ song playlists i was listening to, it was in my oc playlist (thats a mad scientist who would've thought). Originally i wanted to make a fiddauthor animatic (who knows maybe i will), but THIS SONG just caught my brain in a way i couldn't refuse.

So i technically started working on it the late night of September 27, exactly a week ago! which yes yes i hear you all in unison go "WHAT???" to that, and all I have to say to that is.... I have untreated adhd and lots of caffeine in my system! (honestly felt like ford sometimes while workin on that animatic)

Started it off with some notes, then thumbnails. I had my tbob AND J3 open next to me stood up with clips for reference (prob looked a little insane looking back but its fine)

now for the rough animatic! i did this in Adobe animate 2022 (i'll get back to that later) the only thing that really got changed was i wanted to add the diner scene from j3. i realize now that it messed up the timeline i was going for with the animatic but i like to think things are out of order because of the state ford is in, things start to merge together.

After i sat with this rough animatic for a bit, i wasn't sure if i was going to make it in Adobe animate (what i usually do) or make it all in Clip Studio Paint. I wanted this animatic to be way more visually interesting then i usually do, so CSP it is. But! i only have CSP Pro, so i had to draw and export every single new frame from this animatic.

it was a little tedious at first (again never done an animatic like this before) but i got used to it! I edited it all together in CapCut and thats really it!

The missing J3 pages from TBOB spoke to me in a way that im not fully comfortable talking about to my followers. I put a lot of myself in this animatic then i'd want to realize, it's very important to me. The night when i uploaded it i was literally shaking with anxiety (and caffeine-) but the overwhelming support for it is really amazing, thank you so much! if you have any more questions please ask away i love talking about the art process.

Below im going to talk about the code and put HD backgrounds!

thank you for dyemro on here for cracking the code first! now i can talk about my insane little thought process about it

So i never planned to add a code until halfway through with the animatic. i was watching ThatGFFan videos and him talking about gravity falls codes got my brain cooking. i wanted something sweet and simple (i realize with dyemro's post it wasn't as simple as i thought, give me some slack it's my first time). like what you should with making codes you start at the end. And i wanted something that was a nice send off for drawing ford be fucking miserable for 1 minute and 30 seconds.

so i got this. (honestly every time i look at this drawing after finishing the animatic it makes me real emotional)

There are 4 codes in this whole animatic 0:02, 0:15, 0:30, and 0:58

wanted the first one to be REAL noticeable so people can stop and be like "wait... theres stuff in here". people usually think to use the bill symbols, but no! from the description theres a little hint to use the Author symbols

doing that code it leads to: imgu r.com /a/uZa iVfu (and if you know that double line a under a letter means capitalization + im a dumb dumb that used a code image that didn't have a Z so thats just a normal Z)

it makes a LINK! > imgur.com/a/uZaiVfu <

now enough of that boring stuff, heres some HD screenshots and backgrounds of my fav parts

#gravity falls #stanford pines #bill cipher #book of bill spoilers #book of bill #hoodedjelly art

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indierpgnewsletter · 7 months

Text

There's Other Kinds Of GM Advice: Theatricality versus Transparency

(This first appeared on the Indie RPG Newsletter)

I find that broadly there are at least two kinds of GM advice – and they have a very different philosophy underpinning them.

The first kind of advice aims at all costs to maintain verisimilitude. It’s a solution that you can implement without breaking the players’ immersion in their characters. This can just be stuff like Matt Colville explaining that if your players are taking too long discussing plans, guess what, orcs attack! We’ve all probably played a game where people were going in circles and not able to decide what to do. If it looks like we’re not able to decide, we’re probably going to be relieved if the GM makes something happen to break the deadlock and prompt us back into the action.

(Historically, this kind of thing was taken to egregious lengths like Gary Gygax saying if players start acting uppity, have a rock fall on their head. It’s mostly gone now but reddit tells me that Cyberpunk Red which came out relatively recently still says something similar.)

The second flavor of advice involves breaking character and talking to your players directly. I know “talk to your players” is a mantra repeated so often that autocorrect suggests it as soon as you type the letter t. At its worst, this advice is vague and unhelpful. We’ve all considered talking frankly to people in our lives, we just find it awkward and hard and annoying. But, but, but – at its best, just describing the problem as you see it and escalating it from a character discussion to a player discussion will make it go away instantly. Like magic. (If you’re not sure what that means: In a previous issue, I discussed Jason Tocci’s excellent advice on escalating conversation in this way.)

And since the theatrical flavour of advice has the weight of history on its side and transparent advice keeps getting boiled down to mantra form, I thought I’d write down some examples of situations and some alternative ways to handle them:

Situation 1: The players are marines discussing whether to dive into the alien lair and recover their stolen engine (their main goal) or go and see if another missing team of marines is okay. There is only 45 minutes left and this is a one shot.

Theatrical: The other marines suddenly come on the radio and say, “hey we’re okay, please complete the mission.”

Transparent: “Hey, folks. There’s 45 minutes left. If we don’t do the alien lair now, we won’t be able to do it at all. Is that fine?”

Situation 2: The players are low-level fantasy nobodies who have a famous wizard friend. They’re about to tangle with some medium-level bad guy and decide to call in their wizard friend.

Theatrical: When the players try to contact her via a telepathic phone call / spell, she sounds breathless and says she’s busy doing something way more important like fighting a dragon.

Transparent: “Hey, folks. If we get the wizard in, she’ll absolutely make this fight a cakewalk. We won’t even need to roll initiative really. Is that what you want? Or would we rather have a fun fight?”

Situation 3: The players were having fun exploring when they meet a cool NPC (an android! an elf! an android elf!) who has this interesting backstory with an urgent, earth-shattering hook. They go along with the android elf because it seems more important but immediately look like they’re having less fun.

Theatrical: Narrate how the android elf meets a group of other android elves and have the elf say, “Hey, now that I have these folks helping me, you can leave it you want!”

Transparent: “Hey, folks. Talking to you as players here, do we want to stick with this whole android elf plot here? It does mean that we won’t do any open-ended exploration. Which would you prefer?” If they want to ditch the elf plot, you could just retcon it entirely or do the theatrical solution.

All of these situations have happened at my table. They’re all relatively low stakes and I think whichever way you handle it, it’ll probably be fine. But that said, some situations absolutely work better when done transparently so if you’ve never tried the transparent way, give it a shot. If immersion matters a lot to you, try it at the end of the session.

/End

PS. The theatrical options often still require the players to willingly suspend their disbelief and go with it. If a player didn’t play along, they might just say “I thought their radios weren’t working, otherwise we could’ve just contacted them before. Why can they suddenly contact us now?” or “Oh, the wizard is fighting a dragon right now. We can totally wait. There’s no reason we need to fight the bad guy right now.” And sometimes I can’t shut off that part of my brain either so I won’t judge. But if there’s a way to sidestep that situation even coming up, I’m going to take it every time.

#indie rpg #ttrpg #ttrpg community #ttrpg design #rpg #ttrpgsolidarity #game design

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arkhamknightz · 1 year

Text

CLOSURE

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary; in which, spencer tries to fix his mistakes

warnings: angst, happy ending, fluff, as you can tell by both titles inspired by taylor’s evermore album!

notes: part 2 to tolerate it ! i’m really glad people actually enjoyed tolerate it, for anyone who asked for a part 2 or hoped for one this is for you! :) with help from @adhdannieedison !

A month had passed since that fight with Spencer. The letters had started a week and a half ago. First it started off with flowers at your door, a small note attached. “I’m sorry. I still think about you everyday.” You had been rotating through the clothes you had brought in your suitcase, as well as buying new ones.

You couldn’t go back to that apartment. You were staying with a friend, how Spencer got the address isn’t very surprising (thanks to Penelope) but he had started sending letters along with small gifts to the door every other day.

You regretted the fight with Spencer, well, regret isn’t the right word. You meant everything you said, although it wasn’t a secret your frustration got the best of you. Could you have dealt with that better? Yes, absolutely. But his handwriting of each letter of his name only brought an ache to your chest.

It wasn’t right, the way it all went down. He knows that, you know that. You could sense the hesitation in the letters you had received. You could practically feel the nerves radiating off the page, intertwined with the ink.

You were doing better, although you couldn’t bring yourself to write back. You’re sure he knew you were receiving the gifts. Otherwise he would’ve stopped sending them. It cut deep to know him as well as you did. With each letter on the page you could vision him writing them.

He would be sat at his desk at home, knowing he couldn’t bring himself to write them at work. If you inspected the page close enough, you could see very faint droplets. You knew Spencer well enough that he would try his best not to ruin the page, although it seemed like some days he never noticed they were there. His tears somewhat marked on the page.

You knew it was probably over. Maybe it was anger, maybe it was sadness masked as such. But you didn’t need his closure. You didn’t need to know what was running through his head the days he started ignoring you out of fear of what it could’ve been.

The way he looked at you that night, the way he spoke when he told you to stop talking. He spoke like you were some situation that needed to be handled. The way you imagined he would speak at work. You were fine with the spite bubbling in your chest. You were perfectly fine for the first week in the spare room, candles lit as tears rolled down your face with a drink in your hand.

Every time you closed your eyes you could feel his presence. You could feel the longing of his hand on your shoulder, soft kisses on your forehead and whispers of reassurance. It hurt to know him the way you did. It hurt knowing he threw something away so easily after building it for years.

You heard a knock on the door, your friend was out at work and you were sat on the couch filling out a form for work. Knowing what it was, you got up off the couch, setting your computer aside and walked over. You opened the door and there on the mat sat another envelope addressed to you, a small box from your favorite bakery sat under it.

You sighed and picked it up before closing the door and locking it, sitting back down before setting both of them on your lap. You looked into the box and softly smiled, your favorite dessert carefully placed into the box. You opened up the letter and pulled out the paper.

“I know I messed up. I can’t express that enough. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry its taken me so long to properly address it. If i’m being quite honest I don’t know why I did the things I did. More of the matter why I stopped doing certain things. All I know is I miss the way you curled up into me in our shared bed. I haven’t been able to sleep there in the last month. I’m afraid if I sleep in our bed the scent of you would fade away.

I’m sorry for throwing what we had away so easily. I don’t know what caused me to act the way I did, or what caused me to lash out at you when you were only frustrated for all the right reasons. The team was right. It was never about work, but it also wasn’t about you. I can’t pinpoint what caused my behavior but all I know is I’m sorry. And I’ll spend every moment I can trying to show you that I mean that.

This might be a push, but it doesn’t hurt to try. Please, come home soon. I want to work this through. I want to be better for you. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t when I still had you with me. If you do decide to come home one day by some miracle, I’ll be waiting. I’d wait forever if I had to. I really hope you’re doing okay. I’m sorry for the damage I caused, theres not a single day that goes by where I don’t regret what I must’ve put you through.

Yours always, Spencer. x”

You sighed and wiped away the tear that had fell from your eye. You set the letter back into the envelope and put it on the coffee table in front of you. You had gotten a majority of your work done since that night, emotions fueling you to write your papers and get as much work done as you could.

You started going on runs in the park, music playing through your ears as you circled around the area. You really were doing better, the flood of any pain and love you had pushing you to grow and rediscover yourself. You didn’t need his closure, you were just a wrinkle in his life. His guilt was probably what caused him to reach out, but you didn’t need some fake insincere apology from him.

He was apologizing for himself, so he wouldn’t have to live with that guilt. Right? If he really felt bad he would’ve reached out to you sooner. Right? You found yourself making excuses for him again, anger starting to creep its way into your stomach. You loved him, you knew he cared about you. But all you could do was formulate bad intentions in your head.

By the time you ran into Spencer, you were out with your friend at a bar 3 weeks later. You didn’t expect to see him there, nor his entire team. You locked eyes with him from across the room, a tightening ache in your heart as you saw the distinct bags under his eyes, drink in his hand. You knew Spencer wasn’t fond of drinking. Although he did it every so often, he barely ever let himself get as drunk as he looked.

It hurt that you could see his tired features from so far away. Guilt started to slowly rise in your chest before you turned around and downed your drink. “Woah slow down there. What’s up?” You looked over at your friend. “He’s here. With his entire team.” Her eyes widened and she turned around to look around the bar, low and behold there she saw Spencer sitting at a table with a group of people.

“Do not turn around he’s walking- okay well stumbling this way.” You shut your eyes tightly as you heard him call out your name. You looked over at your friend who smiled in sympathy and walked away to go get a new drink. Your breath hitched as he stopped on the other side of you. “Hey.”

You could hear the crack of his voice, you missed the way he spoke to you at night, both of you laying in bed while you whispered sweet nothings to each-other. You turned around and smiled sadly. “Hey Spence” you saw him tear up at the nickname and you quickly panicked. “Hey hey, don’t cry please don’t cry.” He sniffled. “I missed you. I’m so so sorry.” A tear rolled down his cheek, your facial expression now mirroring his.

You could feel any anger you had towards him bubble away as you pulled him into a hug, his body shook against yours as he settled his head into your neck. Cracks in his voice muffled by your hair as he spoke. “I’m sorry. I know I fucked up. I fucked up so so badly. I’ve missed you so much I’m sorry I know you hate m-“ you quickly cut him off. “I’m still upset yes but I don’t hate you.”

You pulled away looking at him, his eyes red and puffy brimmed with tears. “I could never hate you.” You reached up to wipe away his tears, thumb brushing against his cheek which only made him cry harder. Normally, you probably would feel embarrassed, you were both crying in the middle of the bar, but all you could focus on was him.

“I’m gonna take you home okay? We can talk about this tomorrow. You need to sleep.” He nodded, knowing it would be pointless to argue. You looked over at his team, who all looked away quickly, their eyes darting around the room pretending they weren’t watching. You softly chuckled and made eye contact with Derek before mouthing you were gonna take him home.

He nodded and you locked hands with Spencer before letting your friend know you were taking him home. She nodded and told you to stay safe before you walked out. Spencer looked like a kicked puppy, eyes red with tears while he looked down, sniffles coming from him.

You waved down a taxi before getting him inside, sitting beside him. You gave them the address to your old apartment and you sat in silence. The only noise coming from the radio, the streets and his small sniffles. After being dropped off, you reached out and he gave you his keys, you opened the door and your heart broke at the state of the apartment. Books were thrown out onto the floor, the kitchen seemingly untouched, you took a look at the couch and saw a thin blanket sprawled out, pillow thrown onto the floor.

You sighed and looked at Spencer who was already looking at you, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry the place is a mess.” You let out a small laugh, wiping away his tears. “It’s okay. Let’s get you to bed yeah?” He nodded and walked through the apartment with you. You cleaned up while he got changed in your bedroom, putting away the books and folding up the blanket on the couch.

You grabbed his pillow and walked into your room. Spencer was staring at your side of the bed and you placed his pillow back in its spot and sat on the edge of the bed. He took the hint and sat right next to you. You looked down and picked at your nails, his hand grasping yours to stop you. “Don’t do that.” He held your hand and now you were the one crying.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, as if speaking any louder would break you. “I know.” You both sat in silence for a little, small sniffles echoing throughout the room. “You should get some sleep Spencer.” He nodded and you got up, allowing him to lay down. You walked into the closet and changed into comfier clothes before walking into the bathroom and washing your face.

You came back out and laid next to him. His arm wrapping around your waist like it used to. You missed the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, fitting like a missing puzzle piece. You were doing fine without him. But you knew what was missing. You knew you wouldn’t be able to live the rest of your life the same without him there. His arms felt like home, his kisses like rays of sunshine hitting your face, his hugs like being enveloped by a warm blanket.

You hadn’t been able to sleep well, missing the way you felt safe while you were asleep with him. Now whenever you slept you kept a small light on, but it hardly even came close to fulfilling the security you longed for. You smiled softly as he quickly fell asleep, his arms unconsciously starting to tighten around you.

The next morning you woke up before Spencer. You got up and walked into the kitchen to get him a glass of water and some painkillers. You knew he hated taking them, preferring to push through it. But after last night you knew he would need it. You heard quick shuffling and your bedroom door swing open, you turned around and he had tears in his eyes, before he finally settled on your figure left in the kitchen.

This only seemed to make it worse. He let out a choked sob as you looked at him. “Hope I’m not overstaying my welcome.” You joked, he cracked a smile and shook his head. “Never.” You handed him the cup of water and he drank it, taking the small pill reluctantly.

After a few minutes you both sat on the couch. You had been dreading this conversation since you saw him at the bar last night. “I know I’ve said sorry, but I want to prove that to you. I want to show you I mean it wholeheartedly. Pushing you away the way that I did was inexcusable. So I’m not gonna try to come up with one. But I know it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life. And I know you deserve better than someone who could do something like that to you.”

You nodded. “I know I deserved better.” His eyes looked into his lap, his hands fiddling with each-other. “But I didn’t want better. I wanted you Spencer. I knew the difficulty of your job, I knew the relationship wouldn’t be perfect all the time. That I was perfectly okay with. What I didn’t appreciate was you pushing me away, the comments you had started making at me, the way you told me to stop talking when I was angry like I had no right to be.”

He nodded in understanding as you continued, “I’ve never loved someone the way I love you Spencer. So it hurt when you pushed me away and made no effort to show you cared in the slightest. I was trying my best and it seemed like it wasn’t enough for you. So I walked away because I knew I wasn’t gonna let myself go through that.” He nodded. “I know. I’m sorry, I know saying that over and over doesn’t do anything if I don’t prove myself that I mean it. I want to be better this time. And I know that’s gonna take a lot and that’s something I’m more than willing to do. If I have to wait a year for you to fully forgive me I will in a heartbeat. Please. Just let me show you I’ve changed? That I want this to work?”

You nodded and he smiled softly before silently asking to hug you. You pulled him in and you sat in his arms, basking in the warmth and the way he pulled you closer to his chest if that was even humanly possible. You were doing fine without him. But you knew you would never be complete with him beside you.

note: HI i hope this ending is satisfying for everyone. i know i seemingly rushed through this but ideas were flowing! my requests are open for anyone who wants to send in some things, i mostly write song fics, since i find them easiest and can produce them the quickest. but im open to all requests! i have a list of people i write for in my pinned, so please don’t be afraid to send something in! :)

tag list; @sebastiansstanswhore @deadunicorn159 @adhdannieedison

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid taylor swift #spencer reid angst #spencer reid angst fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #matthew grey gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler angst #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid songfic #spencer reid taylor songfic

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luvrodite · 2 months

Text

JASON X F!READER [14.8K]

synopsis. the room, at a glance, looks like it would belong to a beloved child. you smile at the massive bookcase that spans nearly an entire wall, the toys neatly arranged in their chest. a pair of matching hand prints are stamped into the white trim of the windowsill, matching the paint of the wall, one much smaller than the other. the only problem, you realise when bruce crosses the room, is that the room is devoid of an inhabitant.

content warning. fem!reader, inspired by The Boy (2016), dark content, horror, extreme dubcon, non consensual voyeurism, violence, death, blood, masturbation, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie please let me know if you feel i've missed any tags

additional note. idk i’m trying my hand at something new but also this isn’t for everyone and that is OK! please don’t read if you’re not interested in the above tags and remember that you curate your own internet experience. peace and love.

minors and blank blogs do not interact, you will be blocked. please have your age in your profile

read on ao3

You see the notice when you need it the most. Seeking Household Manager/Nanny for Child, written in small bold letters on the corner of your friend’s open newspaper. You’re glad then, for their insistence on subscribing to the papers of surrounding cities, the Gotham Gazette something akin to a beacon of hope when you nearly topple over yourself to reach for the issue and scan the ad. When they’ve saved the glass of wine you nearly knocked over, their eyebrows furrow into a disdainful frown.

“You’re not seriously considering that.”

You look up from the black and white print, breathless. Immediate start. 9 to 6 weekdays. Boarding and meals provided. “It isn’t like I’ve got that many other options.”

They grimace, leaning over to skim the print. “It’s in Gotham. You’re just asking to get robbed, at the very least. Have you ever even looked after a kid?”

The double digits in your bank account weigh on you, the suitcases that have been pushed into their storage closet. The couch that’s served as a bed for the past month has begun to mold itself to the shape of your body – and isn’t that a humiliating thought, for how much had been spent on it, it deserves more than for its primary purpose to be housing a poor girl. Your friend sits beside you, clad in thousands of dollars worth of clothing and sneers at what’s beginning to look like the only option you have.

You push down the urge to bite back, eyeing them pointedly instead. “I can’t afford to be picky. Besides, I’ve babysat my cousins before. It’ll be fine.”

The semester is well underway when you get the email, midterms that you haven’t so much as glanced at closely approaching and about a dozen other things to do that threaten to break you into hives when you linger on it for too long. A Mr Bruce Wayne confirms that you’re fit for the job, and he looks forward to meeting you. You stare at the cracked screen of your phone until the letters begin to blur into one another, feeling the rising lump in your throat. A dinner party goes on around you, all friends of friends who you’ve never exchanged more than a few words with. They don’t miss you when you slink away to the bathroom to cry, relief pulling the stopper of your emotions free.

Not wasting any time, the car comes for you early in the next morning and your friend sees you off, massively hungover and raising a hand as you pile the meagre collection of your belongings into the trunk. You are grateful to be rid of the townhouse, and in truth you think they are glad to be rid of you – a month and then some of their poor, Poor, border taking up space on their couch. It’s an unkind thought, fueled by the bitter humiliation of your failure – they’d not complained once, unthinkingly, unhesitatingly opening their door to you when the job you’d been relying on to (barely) make ends meet had let you go and your roommate had quit on you not a week later.

The stress of it all lulls you into sleep as the car pulls away from the city, cement grey turning to green and rolling farmland. You’re too drowsy to appreciate any of it, and you’re out before you even leave the state.

You wake from your dreamless sleep, startling at the sound of screeching metal. A wrought iron gate pulls open slowly, disused hinges whining loudly. It feels as though an eternity passes before the car is able to pass through, and the hair on the back of your neck stands on end when you cross the threshold, eyes drinking in the secluded land around you. Gravel crunches under the tires as you drive down a private road, lined on both sides by looming oak trees. Through the gaps, you catch a glimpse of the wide stretch of land that makes up the Wayne estate.

The chill of the morning has travelled with you, it seems. A thin cloak of mist hangs in the air, painting all it touches in wide strokes of silvery grey. Through bleary eyes, you take it all in. The car turns a corner and you duck your head to peer through the windshield, a large manse coming into view suddenly, only growing bigger the closer you get.

It looms over you when you come to a stop, blotting out the already pale autumn sunlight. Here, everything is tinged in a light blue film, forever suspended in twilight despite the early afternoon hour – the sun isn’t due to set for another few hours but you half expect the moon to be hanging in the sky when you step out of the car.

Sleep softened and weary from the journey, you stretch your limbs, trying to regain some of the feeling after sitting for so long. Your legs feel static-y and you’re conscious as the front door opens and the face of your employer comes into view, of the wrinkles in your clothing. Discreetly, you smooth a hand over the hem of your shirt, but it only folds back after your palm passes over it.

“Mr Wayne,” you greet when the man comes to a stop in front of you.

It’s difficult to mask your surprise. For all that you’d spent the better part of the last few weeks emailing him, you hadn’t expected someone so...old. He looks a great deal older than a man nearing his fifties, raven hair streaked with thick locks of silver and exhaustion lining an aged face. You feel a pang of sympathy.

“Hello. I hope the journey up wasn’t too bad?” He turns his attention to the driver, who has begun to lift your things out of the car, eyes creasing kindly at the corners and an awkward smile lifting his mouth. “You can just take those on inside, thank you.”

“I can’t complain,” you tell him easily. I wasn’t awake enough to. “You’ve got a beautiful home.”

“Ah, thank you,” he mutters, glancing back over his shoulder at the house. Upstairs, a window is open, and the curtain flutters through, white fabric rippling in the air. “Come on inside, we’ve got a lot to get through before I have to leave.”

You pause at the doorway. “You’re leaving tonight?”

He hums. “Unavoidable, I’m afraid. You’ll have to forgive me.” He offers no further explanation and you’re too tired to press.

He runs you through the basics – emergency contacts, the local police department’s number – as he takes you through a number of rooms on the lower floor. In the living room, as he’s telling you about the fair distance to the town, your attention snags on the portrait hanging over the mantle.

It’s a large thing, set in a gilded frame with a small plaque below it. It dates to a little over a decade ago, and you look up to the subjects of the painting. Of the two faces, you recognise only one and it takes a few seconds to register. Bruce, much, much younger, stands for the portrait with an easy smile curving his mouth. The only wrinkles to be found are those that frame his eyes. He’s handsome, you think, stunned, with an old movie-star kind of charm, blue-black hair and pearly grin. It’s a stark difference from the man that stands next to you now, lacking all the heaviness that clouds over him now.

There’s a little boy in the painting, too. You draw closer, curious. Bright blue eyes, almost blazing, stare back at you, a soft, sweet face that offers a toothy smile.

You’re ushered into the next room before you can get a closer look, but the date lingers with you. What could have happened in such a short amount of time, you think, to cause such a change? Ten years had passed, yes, but the age in your employer’s face spoke of a greater, age old haunting.

You are finally led, after a labyrinthine tour through the manor and its various rooms, to the bedroom of your charge.

Something, you aren’t quite sure what, tips you off before you even open the door. It might be the sudden tense set to Bruce’s shoulders, hiking up nearly imperceptibly as he reaches for the doorknob, or the tremble in his voice he disguises with a cough.

“Jason,” he murmurs, “is eager to meet you.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him, too,” you say slowly, and he steps through the threshold.

The room, at a glance, looks like it would belong to a beloved child. You smile at the massive bookcase that spans nearly an entire wall, the toys neatly arranged in their chest. A pair of matching hand prints are stamped into the white trim of the windowsill, matching the paint of the wall, one much smaller than the other.

The only problem, you realise when Bruce crosses the room, is that the room is devoid of an inhabitant.

He turns and you freeze when you take in the mass in his arms.

“Jaylad, come say hello.”

Pale, porcelain and unmoving, a doll stares back at you from its perch in your employer’s arms. Its likeness is a mimicry of the boy in the painting, a manufactured blush painting its cheeks in soft rose, dull blue eyes lacking the vibrancy of the portrait. It unnerves you, staring at it, and you look back and forth between Bruce and the thing but the former remains steady, expectant.

You raise a trembling hand, fingers clasping one small hand in greeting – it’s barely bigger than a pre-schooler, and even smaller in your arms when he deposits in your arms.

(It takes every ounce of your strength not to flinch at the press of cool ceramic against your skin.)

Whether this is a sick joke or some awful scheme, your situation takes time to reveal itself. Bruce addresses the thing as though it were flesh and blood and you follow, uncertain and stilted. Rising unease makes it difficult to look at the thing properly, and you trail after Bruce back downstairs cradling it stiffly.

It begins to piece itself together easily enough when on your way out of Jason’s bedroom, you catch sight of various photographs littering the surface of the walls and end tables, Bruce and a very real boy with bright blue eyes. It’s easy then, to understand what has happened, and what is being asked of you. Your discomfort softens, if only slightly, making way for sympathy.

You know loss. Death is no stranger to you. The grief of losing a child – it feels cruel to fault your employer for how he’d chosen to cope. Soft-hearted, your chest aches when you catch the lingering of his gaze on the photographs as you pass them in the hall. So dearly loved, it’s no wonder the death of his son had driven him to...this.

Still, you wonder whether this is right, to take money from him like this. It feels as though you’ve taken advantage of this man, accepting to live in his house and eat his food in return for services that wouldn’t come to be.

But the emptiness of your wallet stings like a phantom lash, the desperation of your situation weighs on you and you close your mouth.

Bruce takes your leave almost immediately after your tour concludes. You stand on the front steps with the doll in your arms, a puppet held like a toddler on your hip, and watch him pile into a sleek black car.

“If you need anything,” he says, “they’ll take care of you in town.”

Something in your consciousness snags on the tightness in his voice, something that’s just out of reach, a note you can’t quite make out. His eyes flicker down to the mass in your arms and you follow his gaze. There is nothing you find, the black of the doll’s sweater unruffled, the manufactured flush of his rosy cheeks still cool to the touch – still porcelain. It has not suddenly gained the weight and warmth of a real child.

“Jason’s a good boy. He won’t give you too much trouble,” Bruce murmurs.

When you look up, you catch the comet tail of a funny look, winking out of existence before you can see it properly. It triggers a crawling sensation on the back of your neck that you try to tamp down. Grief is all it is. You chalk it up to grief.

He takes your leave, then, piling into his car with a brief goodbye to the doll. A cloud of dust kicks up behind him and by the time it settles, the car has vanished.

The doll remains tucked in its bed in the hours that follows your employer’s departure, and once or twice you’ll peer into the room, tugged by an invisible string towards the empty bedroom to make sure you haven’t dreamt it all. But every time you open the door, there it lies, porcelain and so very still.

You take the rest of the evening to explore the house – properly this time, lingering in the various rooms of this huge home. Part of you wonders how you’ll manage to keep the place tidy. You’re no neat freak, but it seems a herculean task for one person to manage the entire household. Dust amasses easily, and you eye the high ceilings of each floor critically – how on earth are you meant to get up there?

You file it away as a worry for later, drifting in and out of rooms. An office, untouched, down the hall from your room with a sturdy, mahogany desk and large window which offers you a view of the estate. Guest rooms on guest rooms, white tarp covered furniture and slightly stale air. You find the library after a few turns, drawing closer to a table stacked with books.

They’re well loved, each with a child’s scrawling handwriting in the front cover. Property of Jason Peter Todd.

It sends a pang through you and you pick up the books, flipping through them absentmindedly. It’s fairly advanced for a younger child, you think. One of them piques your interest and when you leave the room a little while later, it’s with the hardcover in your hands.

Your first night in the manse is restless. The house is old. Every so often, the bones of the place snap and crack, shuddering under a great weight. You curl further into the heavy blankets of your bed, willing your burning eyes to close but the nap on the way up has left you unable to sleep. You let out a frustrated sigh, a hand smacking against the sheets before you push yourself up to sit against the headboard and switch on the bedside lamp. From where you sit, the mirror in the corner of the room shines your reflection back at you, a soft orange diffusing through the room.

Down the hall, another snap of the foundations. You shiver, and reach for the book, opening the cover to the name scribbled inside. The clock on your phone reads a bright 2:43 and you flip the page.

To Mrs. Saville, England. St. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17—. You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings. I arrived here yesterday, and my first task is to assure my dear sister of my welfare and increasing confidence in the success of my undertaking...

Dawn comes in slow breaths, the world swallowed in a cool, blue mist as the sky begins to lighten. You have long since succumbed to your fatigue, the pages of your borrowed book splayed open against your sheets and eyes closed to the world. The shadows lengthen on the floor, the house echoes, groans, and sunlight slips in through the gaps in your curtains.

Still, you sleep.

The schedule that Bruce leaves you with is left on the table in Jason’s room, a sheaf of papers detailing his day at length – when he is to take his breakfast, lunch and dinner, when you are to sit down with him for his lessons.

There are more pressing things that hold your attention – namely, the matter of your coursework.

When you wake the following day, it is a little after noon and you curse when you realise you’ve slept half the day away. The list of things to do hasn’t grown any shorter in your search for a job. In fact, when you sit down at the desk in the office with your laptop and connect to the internet – poor, laggy – it only seems to have grown exponentially.

You spend most of the day holed up there, staring at the screen of your laptop as you try to catch up, typing out notes upon notes until your eyes burn and the emptiness of your stomach is too hard to ignore. In the kitchen, you assemble a plate of what you can find. Cold cuts of meat, cheese in the fridge that seems edible, bread slathered in butter, a few slices of fruit.

It isn’t a proper meal, but it tides you over until dinner, when you wander out of the study to root through the butler’s pantry and put together a simple bowl of pasta.

You eat alone in the kitchen, sitting at the island and staring at the grooves in the counter-top. The silence presses in on all sides of you and not even scrolling through social media, of which a limited number of posts actually deign to load, distracts you from the stillness of it all. For some reason the tinny sound of your music, filtering through your wired headphones, isn’t enough either.

Dinner is a short affair, before you return to your work.

It’s a gradual thing, the building anxiety in your gut. The loneliness and late hour are no friends of yours and the tottering pile of coursework threatens to topple over, crushing you beneath a mountain of assigned readings and lectures. The world had not waited for you to get your shit together, and midterms had crept up on you before you could blink.

It isn’t the time for panic. You stave it off when the anxiety simmering in your cells threatens to boil over, willing your tears away. The third cup of coffee at your desk side has grown cold, and the espresso tastes bitter when you bring the mug to your mouth, clinging to your tongue like film.

You get back to bed well into the evening, too exhausted to shower the day off. It’s all you can do to let out a few bitter tears before unconsciousness claims you, a distant throbbing in your head that you ignore in favour of sleep.

how is it out there? haven’t heard from you since you left, just checking in you get there okay? let me know

The texts on your phone are responded to in a perfunctory manner – yes, everything’s fine. talk 2 u soon. very busy !! – before you shove it into a drawer and return to your work.

You think the isolation must be getting to you when things begin to go missing.

It’s easy to grow lonely out here, you realise on the third day when you pick up your phone to message a friend and the connection is so bad your texts barely go through. A rare break from your work, you curl up in the window seat of your bedroom and thumb through the photos on your camera roll. Faces you haven’t seen, fond memories of nights out and shared experiences – your old life seems farther away from you than ever, and part of you is a little bitter that it’s only the case for you.

out for G’s bday!!! we miss u text u when im home?

Accompanying those texts are photos – they take an age to load, of course, but when they finally do, your eyes burn with jealousy at the wide, drunken grins, carefree and happy.

It seems especially cruel to you that fate would deal you such a poor hand in comparison to those around you. The girls you love – whose circle you’d once been part of, young, privileged enough to be reckless – get to reel through their lives without a care. Here you were, miles away from anyone else, a grand total of fifty dollars to your name and with only a fucking doll for company.

Envious, self loathing and miserable, you don’t reply to the messages.

You try to reason that you’ll get to it later, that you have work to do, that the house only seems to grow wider and lonelier around you.

Work.

You fling your phone to the side, pressing your hands to your face and letting out a heavy breath. It clatters against the floor with a dull thud and you can already imagine the newest addition to your screen’s collection of hairline fractures.

You file it away – just another thing you don’t have time for.

Back in the study, you sit down at the desk, only to stop short. Where your pen and notebook had been, outlining your midterm paper, the ballpoint is nowhere to be seen. You peer over the edge of the desk, ducking your head underneath, but there’s no sight of it. You’re certain you’d left it just there, atop the paper.

It’s innocuous enough that you forget about it, coming up with a replacement when you rifle through the drawer of the desk. The thought leaves your mind when you return to your work, new, blue ink crossing out black to scribble notes in the margins. It’s not a loss you mourn – or notice – much.

Your bracelet, however, preceded by the vanishing of your clothes, is.

A pair of jeans, your underwear and a shirt had been folded on the counter only twenty minutes ago when you’d entered the bathroom to take a shower. Now, clad in only your towel, you stare at an empty spot and feel something like fear prickle over your skin.

Blood rushes in your ears the longer you remain in place – for what, you have no idea. Perhaps willing your things to return in between blinks, assure you that it had only been a trick of the light, or that the caffeine and stress had gotten to you.

No such luck. Your belongings do not reappear and the longer you remain in the bathroom, the more you feel like a sitting duck, like soft-bellied prey waiting to be caught.

You venture out of the bathroom timidly, clutching the front of your towel. The floor is cold under your bare feet and you suck in a breath, trying to remain quiet. The house is quieter than usual, it feels like, when you peer carefully out into the hall. There is no sign of any disturbance, no sound from the lower levels or any of the surrounding rooms.

The closed door of your bedroom is much more ominous than it ought to be. You stare at it for a long time, heart in your throat, before you reach for the doorknob with shaky hands.

A soft, scared noise leaves your throat before you can reel it in. Your room has been nothing short of ransacked, clothes and other belongings strewn about your bed and the floor. There isn’t an inch of it that hasn’t been left unturned, drawers pulled out, trunk at the foot of your bed sprung open, the fucking covers pulled back. You step further into the room, horror only growing as you spin slowly, taking it in.

Somewhere down the hall, something clatters and your blood turns to ice in your veins. You whirl back to the open door and lunge forward to slam it shut, breath rattling in your chest as you fumble with the locks on it, palms sweaty and fingers trembling so badly you fear it’ll sweep open on you before you can latch it. Water drips into the carpet at your feet when you finally lock the door and back away, trembling lips pulling downwards.

Fear blurs your vision in saltwater, slipping down your cheeks when the sound of laughter filters through the walls, a soft, child-like, playful sound that only drives you further backwards, a scream spilling from your lips when you bump into the post of your bed, the wood pressing against your back unexpectedly and startling you.

“Please...” You don’t know what you’re pleading for, or who to. Tears stream down your damp face, and your breath hitches, stuttering over a sob when the shadows in the hall shift, the gap underneath the door showing movement right outside your door.

And then – so sweetly, so softly you wonder if you’ve heard it wrong – your name.

You begin to cry in earnest then, taking in big, shuddering breaths that wrack through your body. Crouching, you press your hands to your face, sobbing louder when the voice continues –

“Please come out, I promise I’ll be good.”

Your scream catches in your throat, turning into a spluttering cough when the door knob rattles slightly before stilling. You watch through teary eyes, snivelling, as the shadows move once more and then, as if it had never happened, the house falls into silence once more.

It takes a while for you to move from your spot on the floor, to relax your frozen muscles and pull yourself up, clinging to the banister of your bed to steady yourself. Snot and salt smeared across your face, you keep your eyes on the thin gap beneath the door, the small, solid mass in the centre of it.

You must be going crazy. The isolation must be getting to you. It’s the only reasonable explanation you can procure when you open the door and find your clothes in a clumsily folded pile, the metal of your bracelet glinting amongst the folds of fabric. Holding a hand to your head, you slump against the door frame, feeling the energy leave your body.

“Fuck.”

It takes you a long time to clean up your room, pulling on your clothes with an eye kept on the door and returning your things to their places. Nothing is broken, but you don’t know whether you should be thankful for it. The house continues to breathe as it had before, the structure settling back into place after letting whatever had been outside your door loose. You don’t leave your room for the rest of the night.

Daylight returns some of your courage to you. You venture outside, clutching the end of a pair of scissors as a safeguard. You don’t know how much damage they’re actually capable of, meant for cutting through first aid dressings and fabric, the blade barely an inch long – but it feels comforting that you aren’t empty handed.

In his bedroom, where you had last left the Doll, you do not find it. Even the sunlight streaming through the gauzy curtains isn’t enough to fully shield you from your unease. You look all over the room, pushing aside the curtains, peering under the bed, but it isn’t there.

The afternoon you had planned to spend studying is wasted away on a hunt for the thing. You check each of the surrounding rooms, first, before moving to the upper floors. In each, all that greets you is a thick layer of dust, white tarp and the smell of long undisturbed air. It grips you, the intense need to locate the doll. You cannot place anything beyond this feeling, only that you must find it.

In a downstairs office – what you assume serves as Mr Wayne’s study – you find, curiously, a few papers scattered over the edge of his desk. At first you are too preoccupied to pay it any mind, instinctively crouching to pick them up and arrange it. Your mind remains fixated on the task at hand.

Chance, or perhaps the machinations of fate, pulls your sight to the bright, bold print on the paper in your hand and you process the text belatedly, stilling on the floor.

GOTHAM GAZETTE Wayne Heir Found: Body Recovered From Tragic Blast Alexander Knox The body of Jason Todd, aged 10, was discovered yesterday after a blast in central Gotham that killed at least 200. The Gotham City Police Department is currently reporting this as a “tragic accident.” Jason Todd is survived by his father, Bruce Wayne, who currently holds the position of CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and older brother Richard Grayson. He is remembered by his classmates and teachers as a “bright soul, with boundless potential, who was taken too soon.” The GCPD are working together with the Gotham City Fire Department in responding to this incident. As of this morning, Rescue and Recovery teams have made progress through 75% of the fallout zone and are continuing to do so. Civilians are reminded to keep clear of the area until recovery efforts have been finalised. In remembrance of Jason’s life, the family asks that any charitable donations be made to the Catherine Todd Recovery Centre.

The photos of the fallout that accompany the article make your throat tighten, staring at the grey of a destroyed city block, smoking rubble and dark stains seeping from beneath cracked cement. The faded edges of the paper, the deep creases where it had been folded and unfolded – your heart twists painfully in your chest at the thought that Bruce had kept this reminder in here, all these years.

It lingers with you long after you exit the room, searching for the doll with a slightly muddled mind. You’d known, of course, that his son had died – but you think of the violence of it all, how abruptly he’d been ripped from him. It settles in your chest uncomfortably, making a home for itself in the space beneath your sternum and pressing down on your oesophagus as you move through the house.

When you finally chance upon the doll – sat upright in plain sight in the downstairs sitting room – you pause a few feet away. The fear of last night’s incident clings to you, but with that is something else, the makings of a theory you haven’t quite gotten to, another, foreign feeling that outweighs your fear, tempers it into something malleable. You scrutinise the porcelain face, drawing closer slowly until you come to a stop in front of the armchair you’d been lounging in only yesterday.

Crouching, you stare into dull glass eyes. They remain lifeless, forever affixed on nothingness, unmoving. You pass a hand over it.

“Was it..” you hesitate, feeling acutely aware that you’re talking to an inanimate object, and half expecting an answer. You whisper, “Was it you, last night?”

There is no answer. Of course there isn’t. Still, you stare a moment longer, before your gaze slides over to the leaf of paper that’s tucked beneath it’s leg – the schedule of rules you’re meant to abide by in Bruce’s absence.

You look back up to the doll.

You’ve bowed to the pressure of your isolation and gone mad, you think absently as you sink a knife into the flesh of an apple. Clumsily cut, you arrange the slices onto a plate in the kitchen and slide it onto the small table where you’ve sat the doll. You lean forward until you’re level with it, and narrow your eyes.

“Is it you?” you ask again. Silence hangs in the air of the kitchen and you begin to feel a little hopeless, clinging to this half-formed idea.

You stand and turn, taking a few steps forward into the butler’s pantry but the sound of footsteps makes you whirl around, heart in your throat. The doll remains in place, but – the plate is empty. You draw in a shaky breath, moving closer.

“What the fuck. What the fuck.” Your hands tremble as you peer around the kitchen, eyeing the closed door. It’s implausible that anyone might have moved in such a short space of time without your noticing – you’re the only one in the room.

You try once more, this time without turning around, keeping your gaze fixed on the doll as you slide a plate of toast in front of him. It’s covered in a thin smear of hazelnut spread, the chocolate melting over the warm bread.

The doll does not move.

Your brows draw together, confused. A few beats. The toast is cooling, and a silly, superficial part of you worries that it won’t taste any good if this goes on any longer.

“Are you shy...?” you wonder out loud. The doll does not answer you but you turn away slowly anyway, fixing your eyes on the back door.

A second passes, and then another. You wait.

You feel it then, a few moments later, rather than hear it. It’s difficult to place, the manner in which the very atmosphere in the kitchen shifts, to let you know you are no longer the only one in here. There is the rustle of something moving, the bread, you think, and then it recedes entirely without a sound.

You wait a few beats before you turn, and your breath punches out of you in a rush when you note the once again empty plate. Disbelieving, you laugh.

“Holy shit.” Rounding the table, you pick up the doll, handling its weight much more carefully as you hold it out in front of you. “It was you, then, last night. You know, if you wanted my attention, you’ve got a funny way of showing it, kid. I think I lost ten years of my life with that little stunt.”

The threat seems to abate, after that, when you consider it. The spirit of a lonely child tugs at your poor heartstrings, and when you open your bedroom door after your evening shower to find a clumsily arranged sandwich, it only softens you further. You go to check on the doll – on Jason – and find him sat in bed, his schedule next to him once again.

“So this is what you want, hm?” you mutter under your breath, scanning the paper. Your lips tug downwards into a pout, and you reach out to fix his hair. “Poor thing. You must be bored out here, with no one else to play with.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you find you already know the answer.

Rules 1. No Guests 2. Never Leave Jason Alone 3. Save Meals in Freezer 4. Never Cover Jason’s Face 5. Read a Bedtime Story 6. Play Music Loud 7. Clean the Traps 8. Jason is Never to Leave 9. Kiss Goodnight

You bring him almost everywhere with you after that.

There’s a shift in your mind after your discovery, a distinction that shifts the doll into Jason. You’re able to rest a little easier now, knowing what had been behind the disturbances, and that it wasn’t something you had to fear. He sits comfortably in a chair next to you in the study, keeping you company as you return to your studies, worries that you’d been dealing with something more nefarious comfortably assuaged.

You learn to communicate with him, in your own shared way. The music you play as you study is no longer isolated to your headphones, but filters through the speakers of your laptop as you work. When you begin making your own offhand remarks to him, you don’t know, but as the hours pass it feels less like you’re unaccompanied and more like you’re studying with a friend. Every so often, there is a sign – a tap, or the roll of something on the floor outside the study – that signals you to take a break, pushing away from the desk to take a turn about the room with Jason in your arms.

Once, during a longer break, you bring him along on a walk outside. He doesn’t seem to like it very much – hiding your notebook until you figure it out. And you suppose spirits don’t require much exercise, so you let it be, content to take quick trips to the kitchen for snacks. You keep it for after the day is over, right before the sun sets, stretching your legs as you walk around the gardens before dinner.

Before you’ve realised, you’ve built a camaraderie with Jason. It’s easy for you to confide in him, slumping back in your desk chair with your hands pressed to your face. Tonight, the amount of coursework seems, not for the first time, never-ending. Tears streak through your fingers as you quietly sob.

“I’m so tired,” you cry, and a little hiccup stutters out of you. “It’s so...it’s just unfair. None of this would’ve happened if I’d – if I wasn’t so busy trying to look for a place.”

You work yourself up, tears smearing against the deep hollows beneath your eyes – despite how comfortable your bed is, lately you’ve still been working late into the night, long after you put Jason to sleep with a kiss to his brow. Though the night is young enough that you won’t have to tuck Jason in for a while, it still presses on you. There is too much to do, and not nearly enough time.

“It’s not fair,” you mumble again, weakly. You slide a look over to Jason through swollen eyes, pressing your cheek against your knees. “Everyone else gets to – they get to not care about money and they get to enjoy their lives. It’s just...not fair.”

You close your eyes, hiding your face in the fabric of your leggings. Your head feels congested, after crying so much, heavy, and stuffed with wool. A few minutes later, as you’re working up the will to return to your work, you hear a thud.

When you look up you find an apple on the corner of the desk, bright red and freshly washed, if the few drops of water that cling to it are anything to go by. The sight makes you burst into fresh tears again, a kindness that feels too tender for your poor, bruised heart. You reach for the fruit, feeling the juice run down your wrist when you sink your teeth into its flesh. Mumbling a thank you, you feel, for the first time since your arrival, your hopelessness begins to flicker out.

A crash wakes you in the middle of the night, startling you from your sleep with a jolt. At first, you think it might be Jason. You groan quietly, rolling over into the pillow with a grumble of his name before you sit up and shove the covers off. It’s particularly freezing tonight and you reach for a robe as you shuffle over to your bedroom door only to stop short when, through the walls, floating up from the lower floors, you hear voices.

Your blood turns to ice in your veins and you register the shattering of something downstairs. In the moments that follow, you barely think, flying down the hall to where Jason’s bedroom is and clutching him close to your chest. All the while, the racket downstairs grows louder, raucous bickering and jeering laughter nipping at your heels as you push into a spare room and slip into the depths of a wardrobe.

You kick yourself when you realise you haven’t brought your phone, the landline in Jason’s room being too far out of reach now to dial the local police. You can only press yourself further into the wardrobe, cradling Jason with a hand on the back of his head like you might your own child – like he shouldn’t have to bear witness to the violence enacted on his home. Tears – how many have you spent since your arrival, it must be enough to fill an ocean – slip onto your collar and you hide in a case that smells of mothballs, the fur of old coats brushing against your arms and face.

“It’s going to be okay,” you whisper, feeling half crazed as you comfort Jason. “We’re going to be okay.”

It’s the longest night of your life, waiting for them to leave. Even without you leaving a crack in the wardrobe door, the noise from downstairs would have reached you. It’s jumbled in your fear-addled mind, but you hear the shatter of glass and yelling – they break out into arguments amongst themselves. You can’t make out the words, but it carries the threat of further violence – the kind that goes beyond stolen valuables and broken glassware.

And then, abruptly, you think you hear a whisper of something, before it all falls still.

The darkness in the wardrobe is stifling but you remain there, clutching Jason with your head bowed until you hear a shout announcing the presence of the police.

It’s only when the Commissioner announces himself, climbing to the second floor of the manor and stepping into the room, that you crawl out from the wardrobe. You’re shaking when he steps forward to meet you, arms coming around you to help you stand.

You’re coaxed into a blanket and ushered into a chair as they question you – the tiles of the kitchen floor are freezing under your bare feet and you wince when you catch the looks his deputies share amongst themselves. You must look like a mess, tear tracks drying on your face and cradling a doll in your arms.

There’s a look in the Commissioner’s eyes, as he questions you, that makes the hair on the back of your neck raise – you forget about it quickly enough when he presses further, but later you’ll recall it. There’s a lack of surprise in his gaze, as though he hadn’t expected any less. You figure he’s hardened by his profession. Still, it lingers in the recesses of your mind.

They clean it up quick enough, and they leave right as the sun begins to creep over the horizon. You see them off, standing on the front steps with a shock blanket wrapped around your shoulders and Jason in your arms. When the last of the car headlights fade out of sight, you turn back inside.

You venture into the living room, staring at where the sunlight catches on a stray shard of glass, scuffs on the floor where heavy boots had tracked mud in on the hardwood. The lingering smell of peroxide – all that it suggests had happened here – makes you let out a shaky breath, clutching Jason closer.

You know it then, what – who had kept you safe. And if there were any lingering doubts about him, they dissolve under your tongue. The solid weight of the mass in your arms is an anchor, grounding you, reminding you. Safe. You’re unharmed, you’re okay. The intrusion is gone, it’s just the both of you now. You turn your head, pressing your mouth to his hairline. It’s cold beneath your lips as you whisper, a tear carving a path down your cheek.

“Thank you, Jason.”

After the intrusion things, mercifully, begin to settle. You’re glad for it, sure you’ve fulfilled your share of excitement for the next decade. You return to your and Jason’s routine, rebuilding your shattered safe space with every album you introduce him to and each portion of coursework you complete. Brick by brick, you patch the rift.

The evening you finally feel as though you’ve begun to make headway, you turn to him, overjoyed, patting his hand excitedly.

“I think we deserve a bit of celebration, don’t we, Jason?”

You make dinner for the both of you, a simple but favourite pasta dish of yours that you’re grateful to have made extra of when Jason clears his plate in the time it takes you to carry your own plate into the dining room where you’d set him down. You pout at him sympathetically, running a hand over his head.

“If you’re still hungry,” you murmur, taking a seat and spearing a pasta shell on your fork, “there’s more in the pan, sweetheart.”

In the next room, a clatter almost immediately and it draws a smile on your face. You treat yourself to a glass of something sweet, giggling when the bubbles flit up your nose and pop. The taste lingers on your tongue when, after dinner, you scoop him up into your arms and travel into the living room. A record is placed onto the old gramophone and you spin on your feet, socked feet sinking into the plush carpet as you dance around the room. You spin, and spin, and spin until you land on the couch, laughing breathlessly. On the couch, Jason watches until you pick him up once more and dance with him in your arms. You’re careful with him, conscious of tripping in your state and dropping him. You think he might enjoy it, when you hear the whisper of laughter alongside your own.

When you tuck him into bed that night, it’s with a giddy smile as you kiss his forehead. You go to bed feeling floaty, lighter than you’ve felt in an age. There’s a buzz in your veins that isn’t entirely the drink. You’re happy. It isn’t the same as the life you’d wanted back so fervently, but you’re hopeful. It feels, for the first time, like things might work out. You cling to this victory with a vice grip, unwilling to be parted from it.

Your head hits the pillow and you sleep easily, but wake in the middle of the night, slipping out of hazy dreams into consciousness like slipping upstream. You’re distinctly aware of the wetness pooling between your legs, and the lingering warmth of the drinks.

It’s been a long time. The stress of everything – moving, money, adjusting to the manor – has left you unable to focus on anything else. Tonight, though, a reprieve from it all, a break in the clouds offers you a spike in your energy, a longing that heats the blood in your veins and makes your stomach twist. For the first time in a long time, you indulge, fingers creeping beneath the waistband of your pants.

He watches you touch yourself, the night spent tending to what is a seemingly insatiable appetite. Hardening in his trousers, he stands behind the panelling and a large hand curls into a fist by his side, nails digging into the meat of his palm so hard he draws blood. You work yourself up, differently from the way you had when he’d revealed himself. It’s gentler, fingers skimming over your skin beneath the fabric of your shirt. In the dark his gaze sharpens on the soft plane of your stomach, your body shifting under every touch, pliant and responsive.

You come, and it isn’t enough. He tastes copper, sees stars when you kick the covers off and his keen eyes make out the folds of your cunt, sodden and wanting. Your body is covered in a sheen of sweat when you finally, finally, drift off to sleep. Hungry little thing, his girl. You’ll want for nothing, he thinks, remembering the debauched way you’d put your fingers to your mouth. He recalls the slick sounds, the little whines, drawn out and practically demanding he come forth to please you. With no one around for miles to hear you, unknowingly, you feed him with your gasps.

He longs for it, imagines putting his mouth to you. How you’d keen, how you’d thrash under his hold like you had tonight, legs kicking out under the full force of your pleasure. But he’d hold you down, he thinks, breathing hard, draw even more wretched sounds from that mouth – pretty, soft mouth that always curled around his name so sweetly – than the ones you’d spilled out tonight. Prettier, than the sobs of the last few weeks, that’d had him gritting his teeth. He likes you drunk and dizzy on pleasure like this, likes the breathless, open mouthed smile that pushes the apples of your cheeks upwards. This, he thinks, is all you should know, tears born of desire. Not jittery hands, or envy.

Frail, pretty thing. You need to be taken care of. You wouldn’t know worry ever again, he would take care of you, would take care of everything. You’ll want for nothing.

His chest heaves at the thought, muscles tensing as if readying to crash through the wood at a moment’s notice.

No, he thinks, taking a shuddering breath. He can almost taste you from here but – not yet.

You wake up sticky, despite the chill in the air. Late autumn carries with it hints of the oncoming winter – you think it’s going to be a bad one, if your fingertips are numb already. It takes a bit of maneuvering to untangle yourself from the web of sheets and when you finally stand, there’s a distant ache in your head, a dryness in your throat that makes you grimace.

You drag yourself into the shower, scrubbing off the filth of last night’s activities and letting the warm water run over your muscles. The steam fills the air of the bathroom, thick enough to trap the warmth when you step out and reach for your towel.

It confuses you, though, once you’ve dried off and moisturised, that when you turn to reach for your clothes, they aren’t there. A sense of déjà vu settles over you. Significantly more awake, you wrap the towel around you once more and make the trek back to your room, a little peeved.

“Jason,” you call out as you pad down the hall, trying to keep the bite in your tone from being too harsh. “This isn’t funny, it’s cold. I’m not very impressed right now.”

Not even a laugh, but you’re too huffy to notice, picking up your clothes from where he’d relocated them to the top of your dresser and shutting your door firmly.

When you go to pick him up before breakfast – closer to lunch, now, really – you frown at him.

“Not cool, kid,” you tell him. “What if I got sick? Who’d make you lunch, then, hm? You can’t survive on peanut butter sandwiches alone.”

It feels a little as though you’ve regressed over the next week. More and more things go missing, only to turn up in the oddest places. You think he might be a little more playful, finally comfortable around you, but it’s hard to find gratification in that when your underwear joins the catalogue of missing things, turning up when you take your laundry out to hang even though you know you hadn’t put them in the washing. So maybe there’s a bit of wilful ignorance there. You don’t know how to address this, the pressing feeling of eyes on you at every moment now, an obvious presence that lingers around you more insistently, it feels, than before.

And you can’t place what’s brought this on, don’t know what’s to blame for this turn in his mood, toeing the line of malevolent, no longer innocently playful but shifting into something more intent, dull blue eyes seeming darker these days, more watchful.

“What’s going on, huh?” you ask, when you put him to bed, brushing a hand over his hair. “How come you don’t wanna be good anymore? Is something up? I don’t know, kid, I’m not a mind reader.”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. Leaning forward, you brush your lips against his forehead. “Let’s have a better day tomorrow, okay? Goodnight, Jason.”

Midnight comes to you in slow winks that night, the pages of Jason’s book marked with a ribbon and placed carefully to the side with the half-formed, tired thought that you would talk to him about it tomorrow. Perhaps it would soften whatever had him agitated as of late. The lamp switches off, and you breathe out into the darkness, one last sigh before sleep claims you.

You wake up to a pressing blackness. Not even the moonlight breaks through the clouds to offer you reprieve tonight, the very air sucked out of the room. Groggy, sleep still clinging to you like silken threads of a spider’s web around your eyes, you blink rapidly. The darkness settles around you and your vision adjusts.

The first thing you notice is the hulking silhouette at the foot of your bed and you freeze under the covers, breath punching out of your chest.

Your first thought is to scream. Before your lips can even part, a rough palm is pressing over your mouth and tears prick your eyes.

(What’s the point? Who is there to hear you scream so far out here?)

In the dim, your tearful eyes adjust further and your heart seizes in your chest when you make out the glint of white – a porcelain mask, a face that’s been your only companion these last few weeks. The cupid’s bow, rosy cheeks greyed in the dark. Down to the very last detail, it’s him.

The cause of all the haunting, the thief of your belongings, sentry of this manor. Not a spirit, but real, solid flesh and blood. He looms over you. There’s a solid weight that settles into the cradle of your hips, arms that cage you in, the smell of sawdust and something. Unbidden, your mind tugs back to you the missing lace, satin stolen by unseen hands – the very hands that press on your mouth and side, now, calloused, roughened.

The whisper of your name hangs in the air between you, your resounding whimper muffled.

It’s faster than it ought to be, your compliance, going limp in his hold and ceasing your thrashing. You stare tearfully, heart in your throat, up at him. He lingers like this a moment longer before withdrawing, seemingly satisfied you won’t bolt. Slowly, you push up onto your elbows. The movement brings your face closer to his, and it takes every ounce of your willpower not to flinch at the proximity. He seems pleased enough, however, head tilting, rather like a cat, tracking your movements carefully.

It isn’t as though you’re going anywhere, his weight yet to lift from your legs. You reach out to the side, a shaking hand scrabbling for the flip of a switch. The sudden flood of orange light into the room, soft though it is, makes you flinch.

It’s the eyes that you’re drawn to first. Through the holes of the mask, you meet ultramarine eyes, leagues beyond that of the painting downstairs, which couldn’t hold a candle to the vibrant irises that stare back at you now. Your breath catches when he leans in a hair’s breadth closer and he pauses.

Your voice fails you, when you part your lips to speak, frightened tears wetting your face. You clear your throat, and try once more.

“Jason?”

Dark lashes flutter, something pleased passing through his gaze, something like an unspoken affirmation. It floors you, the blood rushing from your head and leaving you dizzy all of a sudden. He swallows your field of vision, so impossibly big, broad and nothing about him carrying any of the delicateness your doll had. Dark curls fall over the edges of the mask, dark hair peeking beneath it, trailing down the sides of his jaw.

You reach out, carefully, and he lets you press a hand to his chest – clad in a thin, dirtied henley. He gives under the slightest pressure, drawing back until he’s sitting on his haunches, your legs free. You let go, pushing yourself further up against the headboard of the bed and bringing your knees to your chest. He watches, silent, unmoving except for the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. Real, solid, flesh and blood.

“You’ve been alive this whole time?” The dust clings to your sticky cheeks and you swipe at them again. Your breaths are shaky as you come down from your fright. He nods, and you wince, the porcelain mask shining as it reflects the light of your lamp.

“Can you – will you take that off? Please?” He stills and you, foolish, softened by fear or trust, scoot forward a little, legs folding under you. Now it’s his turn to widen the distance between you. You let out a soft warble, lips trembling. “It’s scaring me.”

“...Scary?” His voice is hoarse from disuse, and your eyes drop to his sides, watching his fingers curl into fists. “Under...you won’t like it..”

Your breath catches on a sob and you shake your head. You’re still shaking, still scared. He draws a little closer, hands raising as if to reach for you, and you flinch. “Please, Jason.”

Time stretches so long you fear you’ll remain here forever, trembling, suffocating, before big hands reach up to his face. He’s shaking, too, you notice absently. His head bows when the mask is discarded to the side, lying atop your sheets face down. The shadows obscure him slightly, cloaking his face from you, only the dark thatches of hair that cover his jaw visible to you.

You whisper his name.

His eyes flash when he lifts his head, blue flickering into a green glow so suddenly it feels like a trick of the light – gone in an instant. Scarred flesh, waxy, pink patches of skin and pale, jagged remnants of lacerations; he bares himself to you and your breath catches in your throat.

There are remnants of a classical beauty in his face, beneath the scarring. It’s the kind that would’ve made you stop short on the street, that would’ve brought warmth to your face if you’d met his eyes across a subway car during rush hour. The violence wrought renders him no less handsome but lends a brutality to him, the oppressive aura that cloaks him impossible to ignore, laid bare across his face. Still, there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that your attention snags on, a child-like wariness that reminds you of the headline you’d found in Bruce’s office that day.

Silly, soft-hearted girl. It makes your heart ache, and once the tears start, they refuse to stop. Your hand draws closer to cradle his face, hovering a hair’s breadth from his cheek before he makes the leap for you, leaning against your touch. His own comes up, fingers pressing beneath your eye.

“Crying..”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, sniffling, wiping your nose on your sleeve. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Crying for me?” His voice sounds odd, a tone you can’t quite read through your tears. You try to look away but he refuses to let you, clumsy fingers swiping beneath your eyes.

“You didn’t deserve that. That must’ve been so scary,” you sniffle, and look up at him. “Why were you...why’d you hide? Did – did your father know?”

His eyes flash at the mention of Bruce, and you still at the anger that lines his face.

“Bastard,” he mutters, a decade’s worth of pain packed into one word. It hints to a history you aren’t privy to, raw, jagged wounds still bleeding from an age old hurt. He stiffens and you slide your hand to his shoulder.

“Okay, don’t – we don’t have to talk about him,” you defer hastily, wary of the way his muscles ripple, the thrum of lightning barely contained beneath his skin. It reminds you of something else. “Was...It was you...that night, when they -”

Your breath stutters on the memory of the invasion, and his eyes darken. He crowds into your space more, ducking his head to meet your eyes. More green than blue now, he wills you to understand the severity of his promise.

“Keep you safe,” he says, and you barely notice the hand that curls possessively around your hip, your heart thrumming anxiously in its cavity at the threat of violence his words carry. And yet, you can’t deny it to yourself that it quiets a part of you, too, stills a restlessness that had lingered in your skin after that night.

You don’t consider that night, why he had chosen to reveal himself to you – properly, in all his glory, stripped of parlour tricks and the facade – you’re too relieved that he doesn’t intend to hurt you to linger on it. He lets you guide him back to his room and draw the covers over him, the mask carefully carried in your hands and placed on the bedside table. He catches your hand when you go to leave and for a moment you fear he’ll demand something of you, blue eyes flashing cat’s eye green for the briefest of moments. He lets you go after a moment’s scrutiny, and you eke out a timid goodnight, returning to your bedroom in a daze.

Perhaps you ought to have, though. Perhaps it might have suited you better to linger on the why, to consider what this meant, that there was something in motion, had been since your arrival. Exhaustion renders you pliant, however, and you slip into dreamless sleep the moment your head hits the pillow, the lingering smell of sawdust beneath your nose.

Jason makes it easy on you. It’s a little eerie in a way, re-learning him and yet finding all the hints of your spirit companion in him. He doesn’t stray far from you, content to continue to sit at your side when you sit down for your classes. In the morning, when you go to check on him, he is already awake, and you usher him into the bathroom, unsure at all whether you even should follow the schedule but moving mechanically if only for something to do, to avoid floundering. He waits by the door as you brush your teeth, eyes fixed on you.

You find yourself returning the stare, brows furrowing as you take in every inch of him. Dust and dirt clings to his skin. You wonder when the last time he’d bathed was. You tell him as much, receiving only a blank stare. Uncommunicative, even now.

“You should take a bath,” you murmur, worrying the skin of your lip with your teeth. “I don’t want you to get sick, or something.”

He’s compliant enough, letting you steer him into the bathroom and turning the knobs of the tub. Water comes spraying out, and you startle a little when the pipes whine, but ultimately settle. Dipping a hand in, you test the temperature before looking over your shoulder. He stands by your side, and you tilt your head to the water.

“Will you check if this is okay?” He obeys, dropping his chin in a short nod after brushing his fingers in. You offer him a short smile, and move to stand.

“I’ll try to find some clothes, this is...” you hesitate, looking at the hem of his shirt. “You can’t wear this.”

But his arm blocks your path when you go to step around him, curling around your midsection to keep you in place. You look up, startled. You try to move but he doesn’t budge, looking down at you intently.

“You’ll stay.” It isn’t a request, nor a command, but he delivers it firmly, a matter of fact statement – that you will remain here, with him. You balk, blood rushing to your face.

“I can’t!” you protest, stepping back if only to escape the barricade of his arm, your hands coming up to rest on your hips. “That’s not – Jason, it’s not-”

“You’ll stay,” he repeats, simply, rock-salt voice echoing slightly in the bathroom. Water drips into the steaming bath, and you’re at an impasse, abject indignation warming your veins.

In the end, you give in. You think there was no possible outcome where you did not acquiesce to his whims – you recall the destruction he’d wreaked on his father’s office the night you had foregone a kiss goodnight, frightening you back into his room to press your lips to his temple. You sit by the side of the tub, handing him a cloth and keeping your eyes trained firmly ahead of you as he scrubs himself down. Somehow, you end up washing his hair for him, soapy water providing a suitable enough cover that you breathe a sigh of relief. It’s the gentlest you’ve ever seen him, pleased and bath soft, skin flushed and curls wet against his forehead as you pour water over his crown.

He only lets you go once the water begins to grow cool and you insist on finding clean clothes for him. It’s easier than you think, rifling through the drawers in the master bedroom and finding a pair of soft trousers and t-shirt that you figure will fit him. You keep your back turned when he emerges from the bath, waiting until he’s dressed to face him with warmth in your cheeks. The glimpse you’d caught as he’d risen from the water had made you squeak, hard lines and dark hair, wet skin glistening – all Man, real, breathing, human man. It’s a jarring contrast from the sexless porcelain of his counterpart. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of his broad chest and you promptly whirl around, guilt swarming in your stomach at your momentary lapse in senses.

(In his mind he thinks, don’t you know you’re all his, as he is yours? There is no inch of him that isn’t for your eyes.)

When you sit down for your classes later, you’re more conscious of his presence than ever, a warm arm diffusing soft heat at your elbow. He only shakes his head when you ask if he would rather do something else and you get the feeling later, when you take a bathroom break, that he would follow after you, had you not closed it between you.

He sits close when you have lunch, knee knocking into yours beneath the table in the kitchen. You watch him eat, ravenous, and your wariness melts a little at the familiarity. This, you knew. This, you could handle. When he finishes his plate you push your own towards him in lieu of pointing to the pan but he surprises you – shaking his head and watching you carefully until he’s satisfied you’re fed.

It’s sort of like losing a friend to gain a guard dog. He lingers by your side, catalogues your every movement and bosses you around where he sees fit. You don’t know how to feel about it, and don’t witness the full extent of it until, midway through your lunch, there’s a knock at the back door.

Reactive, he’s a wraith at your back, chair clattering and pressing you away. No guests. You recall the first rule in his schedule as you wrangle him, a hand tight on his chest to set him at ease. You figure it’s fear, in his own, muddled way. There had been a break in, after all, he wouldn’t take kindly to anyone else on the property – you were the only one meant to be here.

“It’s only the groceries,” you whisper, fingers circling around his wrist and pressing down against his pulse to draw his attention. Green eyes strike you down, near unseeing in his wrath and you startle. The seconds pass and you figure the longer this goes unhandled, the likelier Jason is to react for the worse. You take a deep breath, wrangling your own unease to step in front of him, blocking off his path to the door and squeezing his wrist once more.

“I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay,” you murmur, stroking the back of his hand comfortingly. “Just wait here for me, okay? It’s okay.”

He lingers in the room, though it seems only you’re aware of it as the delivery boy brings the bags in. You’re thankful he doesn’t loiter, unwilling to test Jason’s thin patience. The very shadows in the room seem to stretch the longer it takes and by the time the final bag is carried in and the receipt is left on the counter, you fear the kitchen floor will start to crack beneath your feet.

He’s on you the moment the door shuts, wrapping himself around you to run big hands over your sides, assessing you like he hadn’t kept you in his line of sight the entire exchange. You sigh, letting him tilt your chin, inspecting your face. The green in his eyes has completely swallowed the shades of blue, pupils dilated as he closes in on you.

“I’m fine,” you assure. He seems ill-convinced, but finally lets go. “Come on. You’re probably still hungry. Maybe that’s why you’re acting like this.”

He lets out a puff of breath in response and you let out a small laugh.

You make the mistake that night, when you see him off to bed, of unthinkingly voicing out loud as you look around the room,

“Isn’t it -” you hesitate, feeling your words catch on something. You ought to listen to it, but he tilts his head inquisitively, and it coaxes it out of you. “Doesn’t it feel weird sleeping in here? It’s a kid’s room. I don’t think you even fit in that bed.”

His eyes gleam, and you don’t understand what for until he pushes up from the covers and stands. Your brows draw together, confused, but you have no time to question it, weight on your shoulders pushing you forward until you’re steered down the hall to –

Your room.

You stare, wide eyed, as he pushes you; he’s clumsy, but gentle, fingers coaxing you under your covers before rounding the bed to slip under them on your other side. Your heart catches in your throat, alarmed.

“Jason – no, this isn’t what I meant, you-” He turns on his side and you fall silent.

“Kiss goodnight,” he murmurs, a hand reaching out beneath the soft weight of your covers to tug you closer, warmth searing through your pants where it rests on your hip. You resist, pressing against his chest to create a modicum of distance between you, but it’s impossible against his strength. Again, your mind supplies you unhelpfully with attention to the heat that rolls off him, the proximity or lack thereof between you.

“Are you – did the delivery upset you? Is this why-” You’re grasping for straws, searching for something to cling to, a reason that softens the weight of his gaze and all that lies behind it. You blind yourself to it, convince yourself the flash of his eyes is affirmation, let yourself believe it, breathing out a shaky, “Okay.”

“Kiss.” He repeats the word, and your chest presses against his. He’s a furnace, warmth trapped beneath the covers threatening to burn you alive. Your mouth is dry as you lean up, smoothing a hand against his curls to flatten them backwards, bare his temple to you.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, into his hairline, lips brushing against the raised outline of a pale scar.

Slowly, the sands in your hourglass begin to trickle to an end.

The kisses brush closer and closer these days. No longer do your lips meet the spot at his hairline, or his temple. The first time Jason brings a hand to your cheek and guides you lower, you’re too surprised to do anything, kissing the higher point of his cheekbone and pulling away hastily, face warm. It feels so incredibly inappropriate, letting him continue to blur the boundaries between you. He makes a noise of discontent the next night, when you return to his forehead, only settling back into your sheets when your mouth finds his cheek. The hand on the back of your neck is heavy, fingers brushing against the small hairs in feather light touches and sending shocks of something down your spine.

He sleeps on his side, always, facing you. You can feel his eyes on your back as you feign sleep. Is it unwise, to turn your back to him, you wonder. The idea of sleeping on your other side makes your stomach curdle, his breath fanning over your cheek, nose brushing against yours – much too close, too intimate for the way he’s been acting lately. You fear if you give him an inch you’ll never come back from it.

(Silly little thing. You were his the moment you stepped over the threshold.)

Tonight, Jason is heavier handed with you than usual. Something simmers in your gut as he presses on the back of your neck, green eyes near luminescent under the swathes of soft orange light from your lamp. You waver, but it’s all you can do to give in, your arms threatening to buckle under you if you don’t follow. Hovering over his side, you bend your head.

Lower still, Jason pulls you to him – you only barely manage to avoid meeting his lips with your own, skating the corner of his mouth and planting a clumsy peck there. When you chance a look up at him, he’s already watching you, a crease where his eyebrows meet.

“Kiss goodnight,” he says, expectantly, voice rough with an undercurrent of something eerily like want. It makes your breath hitch.

“I...I did,” you stammer, one last attempt at resistance. He doesn’t buy it, blinking slowly at you.

“Kiss.”

Saliva pools in your mouth the longer he stares at you, time stretching between you as he waits and when you swallow, his gaze flicks down to track the movement of your throat, pupils dilating. Now, only a thin ring of green surrounds the vastness of black, observing your every action.

Finally, seemingly sick of your inaction, Jason shifts upwards on the bed and you squeak in surprise, reeling backwards only to meet the solid wall of his hand. Your heart races in your chest, sounds spilling out of your mouth that are muffled when he closes the distance and slants his lips against yours.

It’s a wet, messy thing, clumsy and hungry. Jason’s tongue slides against your bottom lip hungrily and you, foolishly, part your lips to protest. He only uses it to push further, tongue tracing the contours of your mouth, a deep groan wracking through him, a deep-seated tremor that you think he must have been holding back for a long time. His hand fists the material of your pants, the other bearing down on your neck as if to press you even closer. Your own are helpless against his chest, unbalanced and tottering forward onto his lap, trying to push away –

“Mmh, no, J-” you’re cut off, unable to get out a single word. “’S wrong.”

He ignores you, swallowing the pitiful whimper you let out to lick into your mouth. You’re dizzy, head spinning from the lack of air, mouth swollen and spit slicked. Against his chest, your fists push weakly, your strength pale in comparison to his. Absently, a part of you wonders if that’s really the reason you aren’t trying harder – a distinct pressure growing between your legs that you try to tamp down.

Your spine arches ever so slightly under his fingers, legs bracketing his hips to accommodate his size. The throb you feel between your legs is not only his.

But it’s wrong. You can’t.

Uncaring of your internal conflict, the world around you tips in a matter of seconds and you blink up at Jason, vision swimming as he comes into sight. Your positions are now reversed, with him hovering over your body, pressed flat against the wrinkled sheets. Your clothing is rumpled, top riding up the expanse of your stomach and baring your flesh to hungry eyes.

He remains between your legs, an arm descending beside you to hold himself up as he closes in. You shake your head, twisting to avoid the wet press of his mouth against yours again, your hand coming to press against his shoulder.

“No– ‘s wrong,” you murmur, desperately, trying to push him away. Undeterred, his mouth trails over the line of your jaw and you stumble over a gasp when his teeth graze over your skin, taking it between his lips and nipping, tongue flicking out almost immediately after to soothe the sting, something like a keen in his throat when you squirm beneath him. You draw blood trying to stifle the sound you nearly make as a result of it, legs going to press together but only tightening around his waist.

“Not,” he pants, hand on your leg squeezing, trailing higher until it skims the space above your waistband, fingers ghosting over your bare belly. His touch leaves a trail of wildfire behind it, burning licks over your skin that make you gasp. “Not wrong.”

You whimper, a haze of desire settling like a cloud cover over your guilt when he flattens his hand over your stomach and presses down, eyes flashing possessively as he delivers his next blow. “Not wrong,” he repeats in a reverent whisper, leaning down until you’re nose to nose. The smell of cedarwood fills your nose, a history he’s unable to scrub no matter how much of your soap he uses, the milk and honey scented liquid bubbling over his skin. You hold your breath, eyes widening, the flex of his bicep in your periphery as he supports his weight with one arm. “You’re mine.”

The tears leak out of your eyes, and you shake your head. “I’m – not.”

Nose caressing yours – “You are,” he confirms steadily, voice low.

You understand then, the curtains pulling back to reveal the future that has been hanging in the wings this whole time for you, the fate you’d sealed for yourself. The long absence of his father, the shiftiness in Bruce’s demeanour when you’d met him and the eagerness in which he took his leave. Your very purpose, here – all of it, every strand, threaded, curling around you.

It all leads to Jason.

He swallows your sob with an open mouthed kiss, then, and the sands of time run out.

It’s horrifying, the gentleness he treats you with, divesting you of your clothing like you might wilt under his fingers if he isn’t careful, delicate flower that he thinks you to be. There’s adoration in every touch, worship in his eyes. Layer by layer, they come off until you’re bare beneath him, swathes of orange light swimming over your belly and lighting a fire in his eyes. They’re green again, now, near neon in hue, teeming with barely restrained hunger. His fingers shake, hovering over your sides, pressing you down when you try to raise your arms. One broad hand swallows your wrists, held against the soft flesh of your stomach as the other begins to tug his shirt off.

Your breath catches in your throat, whimpered pleas clogging your airway when his fingers drift to the waistband of his pants. Scars, so many scars line the expanse of his torso. His body is a map of puckered lines and flat, pale marks, a lifetime of brutality carved into his skin. Dark whorls of hair dust his chest and stomach, a pattern that continues lower as he tugs his trousers off, muscles flexing as he twists. In another lifetime, under an entirely different set of circumstances, you might’ve salivated at the sight of a man like this, might’ve reached out to splay a hand against his barrel chest, reveled in how miniscule you were in comparison. In another lifetime, there wouldn’t be that ever pressing guilt, that shame that colours your vision and tightens around your neck – you might’ve admitted to wanting it.

In another lifetime, you might’ve even begged for it.

Your mind eddies at the sight of him, blood rushing so startlingly through your veins you have to slump back into the sheets, dizzy and daunted. You’re stunned into silence, throat too dry to string together any sounds beyond a strangled whimper.

He’s thick, head an angry, dark colour that you can’t make out in the low light, weeping. As if caught in a dream, you watch a bead of pre-cum slip down his length, the light gleaming over the trail it leaves on his skin. When you raise your eyes, fearful, he’s already watching you, eyes sharp.

The bright green of his irises shocks you back into your body, and you begin to shake your head anew, struggling to push yourself away, back hitting the headboard.

“No, Jason, no.” You begin to weep, hands coming to pound weakly at his chest when he hovers over you once more and he dips his head, nosing along your cheek. Your tears do little to stop him. If anything, it only spurs him on, pupils dilated at the sight of you like this and breathing growing ragged. A rough hand skims along your ankle and pulls, until you’re flat on your back beneath him. “It’s wrong.”

“Don’t cry,” he rumbles, plaintive, lips brushing against yours clumsily, an attempt at comfort. He settles between your legs, one slung over his hip and you mewl when he tilts forward, the weight of his length sliding against your traitorously wet folds. You draw blood trying to stifle a whimper when his head nudges against your clit, a dizzying spiral of unwanted pleasure curling down your spine. His lips curve into a pout against yours, a hair’s breadth between them as he presses his forehead to yours.

“I’ll be good,” he promises quietly, voice pitching into a plea as he ruts against you. You squeeze your eyes tightly, trying to turn your head but a hand comes up to cup your jaw, keeping you face to face with him. “I’ll be good. I’ll–‘ll take care of you. Make you feel good.”

Clumsy, painful, intrusive. You’re wet, but it’s not enough – Jason breaches your entrance and your gasp teeters on a scream, fingernails digging into the meat of his forearm as you struggle to accommodate for his size, not nearly prepared enough for the stretch. His voice joins yours, a different kind of pain in his groans as he pushes slowly in. You curse him, drawing blood where your nails sink into his skin and gasping for breath.

It’s sweltering in the room, despite the chill of winter, Jason’s body a canopy over yours. Every inch of him that presses against you is searing, burning to the touch and threatening to flay you alive. You sob when he finally bottoms out, his teeth gritted and forehead scrunched, the last strands of his control steadily fraying.

Big fingers swipe at your under eyes, smearing your tears instead of wiping them, and then he begins to move. The first thrust winds you, pushing all the air out of your lungs and eliciting a choked sound out of your throat, one he echoes, dropping his head into the hollow of your neck and thrusting again.

Shame and guilt war within you, fear pebbling your skin as his hips cant forwards, setting a sloppy pace meant only to seek a quick release. Every second that ticks past, he draws closer and closer to the edge and shamefully – so do you. There’s a burning in your gut, the sound of your wetness loud in the room over his desperate groans, your cunt squeezing around his thick length. It’s a horrifying truth, one you don’t want to accept – it feels good. The drag of his cock against you, the slippery movements of his fingers, the overwhelming weight of his body against yours. It lights every nerve in your body alight, repulsion and longing amassing as one, a torturous cover that threads through your veins against your will.

Your sobs subside as it comes to you, pleasure pooling slowly in your gut like a leaky faucet, a puddle growing until your cries turn into whimpers, gasped breaths when he manages to find that one spot that empties your head of all thought.

No, no, no turns into muffled whines, your tears carving their own scarred paths down your face. Each thrust, every slide of his length and whisper of his fingers carves a bit of your resistance away, until all that’s left between your desire and his is the ruins of your sensibilities. The last of your defences gone, your nerves feel like spun sugar, dizzying, electrifying – wanting, needing more.

He’s highly attuned to your reactions, and you watch through blurry eyes as his gleam when he makes this realisation, thrusting forward unforgivably and pulling more screams from you. Your head tips back into the pillow, ultraviolet green burned into the back of your eyelids.

“Be good for – for you,” he gasps out, a low whine building in his throat and you weep, arms reaching up to wind around his shoulders. It’s a twisted thing, that the one inflicting this on you should bring you comfort, but you cling to him still. He tucks himself closer to you, eager to provide this cover, allowing you to hide your face in his neck – hide from yourself, as he fucks you. His hands wander, brushing, coaxing, petting your body. No longer are you the caretaker, but now the doll, almost. A pretty thing for him to cradle, to have, to do with as he pleases. And he does, driving into you hungrily, as though he’s been starved of it, unable to hold himself back any longer. He sates his appetite on you tonight, teeth, tongue, cock. All of you, his for the taking. Under his hand you are taken apart and remade, molded by rough hands and lovingly pieced together until you’re born anew, settling into your role like drifting into dreams.

Your orgasm washes over you, abrupt and unrelenting, so far gone a scream tears from your throat to bleed into his, your teeth sinking into the junction of his neck and shoulder as your leg kicks out and you fall apart on his length. Sloppy thrusts pick up the pace and he presses you further down into the sheets, grasp on your hips and waist bruising. It’s animal, the way he bucks into you, mouth open in a snarl to bare sharp canines, tongue laving against your pulse.

Too much – it’s too much. You’re still riding out the high of your orgasm, but he continues to fuck into you, head bumping against one particular spot that has your toes curling painfully, body twisting in his grasp and trying to pull away. A vain effort. Even your squealed protests fall on deaf ears, dizzying pleasure bubbling up once more in your gut, overwhelming and feverish.

Your eyes squeeze shut tight as you come again, colour exploding in your vision in vivid hues of red and orange, mouth dropping open to swallow lungfuls of air. Jason, in your ear, lets out a guttural moan that lances straight through his chest to spear yours. Warmth trickles down your body, spend and slick smeared where the two of you are connected.

You swim in and out of focus, eyelids heavy and attention spotty. Like an old radio, or as if underwater, his voice breaches your consciousness in snippets. Soft cooing and fingers stroking along your spine, you’re vaguely aware of being shifted, hefted onto a warm chest as easily as lifting a feather. Downy hairs tickle your cheek, the smell of musk and cedarwood burning beneath your nose.

Mine...so good...take care of...

There’s an ache between your hips, a fullness that has yet to retract – but when you blink drowsily up at your captor, you begin to realise in the last dregs of your consciousness: in this, and all that follows after, he has no intention of parting from you.

Cobalt blue now, half lidded eyes regard you with reverence, kiss bitten lips cooing unintelligibly, praises you barely register. Jason cranes his head to press his mouth against your temple – a mockery of your rituals to you, perhaps an homage, in his twisted mind.

The mark on his neck smarts, the beast in his chest purring in satisfaction. He looks down at you, the drying tears on your face, lashes fluttering in your sleep. He strokes a finger over the crease between your brows, dragging down to where your lips part ever so slightly. He barely manages to hold back a satisfied rumble when, at the touch of his finger, you accept him in. Precious, sweet girl. Even in sleep, you know him. He shifts on his back, careful not to jostle you too much, and once more the bite stings. In the morning, you’ll insist on tending to it, he knows. Your eyes will pool, diamantine, lips trembling tearfully at the wound you’ve left on him. You’ve claimed him as he would you, in time, but he knows it’ll take a little longer for you to see it as he does, that in the morning you’ll begin to piece back the ruins of your defences and he’ll have to work again to keep them down.

That’s okay. He’s got all the time in the world. You’ll see, soon. Out here, with only each other for company, you’ll quickly learn. He’ll take care of you.

You’ll want for nothing.

fin.

um. there's a lot i wanted to include in this fic, mostly that there's something off about jason's death and his being alive - i didn't really get to explore that beyond the eyes so if you caught that i hope u know i meant for it to convey that he's a Freak.

Brahms in The Boy is entirely human but i think there's an air of supernaturalism to jason in this (and even arguably in the original source material) with how such a large man manages to move through the walls quietly and quickly, he feels a bit wraith like to me. also again with the eyes - there's something wrong with him but there's literally like 294728 other things to worry about that you don't notice until it's staring at you in the face and by then it's too late.

anyway this came to me during finals and it was driving me SO damn insane during finals, i think i've been working on this for about a month? i'm not sure - the writing program i've been using lately doesn't have a date of creation so i don't really know but finals were in early june so maybe just shy of two months? i would say a month and a half.

this is the first time i've properly dipped my toe into content of a darker nature like this and i hope i did it justice! idk i wanted to try my hand at something new, i think there's a lot that's interesting about the psychological aspect of fics like this, like the buildup and feelings leading up to and during the climax. anyway this was a bit of an experiment and i hope you enjoyed it.

#divider by anitalenia #jay my heart #jasonsmirrorball #tw dubcon #cw dubcon #tw noncon #cw noncon #<- putting the noncon tags to be safe !!#jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #x reader

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marleyybluu · 5 months

Text

Four and Counting

husband!Oscar Diaz x fem!black!reader

Word count: 4.4k (oops)

Warnings: everything is fluff, the cutest couple alive, another pregnancy, hints at abortion (but supportingly?), Oscar being the cutest fucking husband, self-indulgent asf cant lie like I want be in love like this

if i missed any lmk

AN: yall do not know how long this mf has been in my drafts omg I finally finished. This fic is just drowning in love. No smut 🤷🏾‍♀️. A bit rushed in certain places but it all fits pretty well in my opinion. this is not the end of the series but its like the end of the main chapters. there will be lore on the couple obvi, updates on the kids and the family as a whole bcus i am obsessed. hope yall enjoy.

You didn't know how it happened, you blinked and soon there were four. You had four kids running around your home filling it with innocent joy and laughter, and the occasional attitude. It was a full house and a busy life, but it could be enjoyable. You'd become a stay-at-home mom. At first, you weren't sure if you'd be able to manage, you loved your job a lot and worked extremely hard for it but with your growing family, your kids needed you more.

With Oscar opening a second restaurant you thought it'd be a good idea to bring up what's been gnawing away at you and he tells you that he's behind you no matter what path you choose. You put in your letter of resignation and bid your co-workers a teary-eyed farewell with promises to visit as much as they can. You had to admit it was a nice break, you didn't have to wake up as early, you weren't on your feet as much and the house was nice and quiet for a few hours when your children were either in school or at daycare. But then you had baby Rosie and your house had returned to a screaming, hollering mess.

She was a loud one and very expressive, babbled and cooed to anyone who would listen. "And then what happens after that?" You say laying next to her gently stroking her hair. She kicks her feet with excitement and responds in her usual baby language. "Oh my goodness." You respond. You could do this all day. You hated to admit it but you missed the baby stage so much and you were grateful for your little one. You'd been lounging around all day, only getting up to shower when she had fallen asleep and the occasional time when you needed to grab her bottle.

You pepper her chunky face in kisses and she squeals with happiness. "Que hermosa." You giggle. You two are so wrapped up in your world you don't even hear when the door unlocks and Oscar strolls in, he decides to check in on you since everything at the restaurant was going fine today. He notices the obvious vacancy of your presence downstairs and stumbles into the kitchen thinking you were feeding Rosie but he was wrong. He hears his baby's infamous noises from upstairs and smiles following the sweet noises. He creeps in on you two.

His head lolls to the side and rests on the door frame. He'd seen you like this many times (clearly) and it never got old. The way you lovingly interact with each child at any stage in their life, it was sweet to witness you give the same sweet eyes to Rafa at his big age as you did when he was a baby. Just a gentle reminder that he chose the right woman to marry, the best one to make a mother.

Rosie turns her little head and screams when her eyes land on her father. "Hola, mi corazoncito." He coos entering the room matching the same excitement as his baby which causes her to become even more riled up. He scoops her up and holds her in the air and all you can do is watch and grin like the Cheshire Cat. He brings her down and kisses her cheeks. "Cómo estás, mi mariposa?" He asks Rosie and she nuzzles her forehead in his cheek. Her nonverbal way of saying she missed him. Oscar takes his place next to you on the bed. "How are you, mama?"

You pucker your lips and he smiles dropping a kiss. You pout at how quick it was but quickly subsides when he gives you a forehead kiss. "I'm good. Sleepy. Hungry. Missing you."

"Missed you too, that's why I came home. And I brought some food from work."

You squinted. "Who cooked it?"

He chuckled. "Jason."

"Yes!" You fist pump. "Jason makes the best fucking food I swear."

Oscar's head seems to tilt even more, he's insulted by your statement but you smile sheepishly placing an encouraging hand on his shoulder. "Not as amazing as you do." He rolls his eyes and kisses your temple. Rosie babbles as her little reminder that she's still in the room. "No one forgot you chica" He affirms giving her some more smooches. "Let's go get mommy her food."

You sit up and stretch; some much-needed cracks are heard via your aching bones, and when your arms come down, you feel much looser and less tense than before. "It's okay, iré contigo." (I'll come with you.)

The three of you plop down the stairs and you part ways as Oscar heads to the kitchen while you shuffle to the living room and drop onto the couch, your lounging was short-lived when the doorbell rang. You huff getting back up on your feet. You swing the door open with a mean mug on your face until your eyes land on your mom and your features immediately soften.

"Hi, Mommy." You smile reaching out for her. "Hi sweetie, how are you?"

"I'm great," You pull her inside and close the door behind her. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugs off her jacket and hangs it up on the rack nearby, her shoes slip off her feet and she places those next to Spooky's on the mat. "Came to visit, figured you'd need some... company..." She trails off and— not so subtly— stretches out her neck to see if she can spot the baby. "Mhm." You say crossing your arms, you call bullshit.

"She's in the kitchen with Spooky."

And just like that, your mother leaves you in her dust. You hear her high-pitched, "Hiiiii GG's babyyyyy, helloooo." And you can't help but smile. Your mom always seemed to become happier with each grandchild you produced.

You begin to feel left out when you hear all the commotion in the kitchen so you decide to join them. Your daughter has your mom's nose in her small fist while your mom blows raspberries in her little tummy, she erupts with laughter and you catch a glimpse of Oscar with nothing but heart eyes for his baby girl. You sneak over to him and slide your arms around his abdomen, he drops his arm over your shoulder and draws you close. He plants a kiss on your head. The microwave beeps behind you signalling that whatever was in there had finished heating up. Your eyes widen when the aroma of cheese hit your senses. "Is that lasagna?"

He nodded. "Yeah. He made a little dish for you, told him you've been craving it lately."

You squeal with excitement as you take the hot dish out of the microwave, you set it on the counter and danced over to the drawers in hot search for a fork, your successful in finding one and greedily stick it inside the soft noodles that were jam packed with delicious ingredients. You take one bite and practically faint at the taste.

"Just needs one more thing." You think out loud, you hustle over to the pantry and grab a bag of barbecue chips, you snag a handful and crack them in your hand, sprinkling them on top. Oscar stands there... confused.

"Girl, what the hell is that?" Your mom asks equally appalled.

You shrug and take another bite. "It's good though." You muffle with a full mouth.

"I love you." Oscar sighs and you laugh at his adoration for anything you do, you blow him a kiss before taking another bite. You don't see it but your mom has her eye on you with a very interesting theory brewing in her head. Your husband's phone rings and he excuses himself to answer it leaving you alone with your mom and Rosie, who is quiet and happy on her grandmother's chest, her little eyes slowly closing with sleep.

You try your best not to make too much noise while you reach for more-

"Are you pregnant again?"

You nearly choke on your saliva at the ridiculous question. You quickly shake your head. "No!? Are you nuts? I just had her and she is the last one." You assure but your mom isn't believing it. "This little concoction says otherwise."

You roll your eyes. "I just... like pasta and chips... together."

It did sound ridiculous.

"Since when?"

"Like... a month ago..."

She sucks her teeth. "Mi amor, I'm telling you, I think you're pregnant."

This was insane, this was an insane conversation to be having. You were one hundred percent sure there was nothing and no one in your belly-- just the mere thought of having two under two was giving you the heebie-jeebies. "I'm just saying-"

You groan like the irritated teenager you once were, "Ay Mama, no más charlas de bebé, por favor." (No more baby talk, please.)

She agrees to ease off the topic but it remains in the back of her mind.

-- --

Later that day after Oscar's gathered the others from school, you sneak out of the house to do some grocery shopping. It was a bit of time for yourself, a time when you didn't have to keep your eye on your tiny little humans. You go through the aisles for the essentials and when that's done you browse for treats and snacks for your kids (that you and Oscar will eventually munch on as well.)

You cautiously approach the next aisle that is stacked with condoms, contraceptives and pregnancy tests. You meant to move, your hands ready to push the cart forward but your feet are firmly planted on the floor. You sigh and turn in, quickly grabbing a box and dumping it in the cart as though it's not for you. "She better be fucking wrong." You mutter to yourself.

-- --

With all kids fed, bathed and in bed before twelve it allows you to have the bathroom to yourself for a while. You wedge the knuckle of your index finger between your two rows of teeth, you stare at the box and sigh. "Please prove her wrong." You whisper to no one in particular. You pop open the box and rip open the wrapping of the test. One original and one digital. You sit on the toilet and do what you've done a hundred times, you pee on the sticks and set them aside until the timer goes off.

You clean yourself up and wash your hands, you know better than to just stand there and watch the sticks waiting for that fate-sealing answer but you go against yourself and stare. You're in a trance until there's a knock at the door, it startled you and you clutch your non-existent pearls for dear life. "Que?"

Oscar asks, "You good? Didn't need company tonight?" He's referring to your commonly shared showers which, now that you think about it, is probably one of the reasons you're in this predicament again!

"No, it's not that. I'm just..."

You huff and unlock the door swinging it open with displeasure on your face, your arms crossed as you nod over to the tests on the counter. His eyes follow your actions and pop out when he sees them. "How-"

"Mom said it was weird that I ate the lasagna like that."

He chuckled. "Didn't want to say anything."

You whine saying, "It's not funny, I just thought it was a change in my palette or something, I mix random foods all the time. I-" You searched for every excuse you could find. Oscar's face softens at the worry in your voice. "I just had Rosie." You sigh sounding depleted. You turn your back to the tests when you hear that all too familiar sound. You squeeze your eyes shut, if you don't look you won't know the answer and you can go about your merry way. Your husband offers to look for you and leans over. You hear the quietest gasp he's ever uttered and you know. You spin around to look at them yourself.

Positive. Both of them show positive.

You look up at Spooky and he's already looking at you waiting for your reaction so he can curate his own. "How do you feel about it?"

You shrug. You truly didn't know, you didn't even have words. Your throat was dry. You pick up one of them and look at it. And you feel nothing. Empty. Just waiting for a sense of gratitude to come across and for some reason, you can't seem to produce it. You put the test down and leave.

Spooky's still standing there with his heart in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he should've listened to you, that two was enough, and then three and four. He's after you, right on your heels as you enter your bedroom. You sit on the bed and fall back onto the sheets, you cover your eyes and shake your head at yourself and him. "I just had Rosie." You repeat to yourself. And then it happens. A tear slips and as quick as you are to wipe it, he knows you like the back of his hand— your breathing gets choppy and choked, you sniffle. The bed dips beside you and the sound of the sheets ruffling as he lays down.

"Háblame." (Talk to me)

You take a deep breath. You can be honest. "I don't know how I feel. I'm not sad but I'm not happy. I just hoped Rosie would be a little older. They all have good age gaps and- Oh god, what if they don't want another sibling? And Rosie and I spend so much time together, they just got used to her-- Emilia was so clingy when I had her, she felt so left out and-and-"

Oscar presses his hand over your thigh. "Cariño. Respirar. Por favor.

You breathe shakily. "It's okay not to know how to feel. If this is not what you want... I'm here for you, your moms here... the kids are here. We have more than enough, Sí?"

You nod. He reaches over and pulls you into him, you rest your forehead on his chest while he rubs smooth circles on your back. "We have some time for you to think about it right? It's your world mi amor, we're just living in it. I got you no matter what."

"Spooky."

"Mhm."

"Thank you."

He smiles and kisses your head. "It's my job baby."

— — You'd been hiding your belly from everyone, even the kids. It was easy for the most part because you only wore baggy clothes and they made you look a little large anyway but then there were not so subtle signs— like the heavy breathing from doing just about anything, and your walk? Oh, your walk was not normal no matter how hard you tried. So you decide to come clean to your kids and other close family during a little gathering that Spooky's brother, Cesar, was hosting. Cesar was the only person who knew and you two asked if it'd be okay to announce it tonight.

He was fine with it, excited actually.

Your hands shake. You were cautious in deciding on having this baby, it took you a while to feel anything. At first, it was uncertainty, did you want another? Would you be crushed if you didn't have it?

But as the weeks passed you couldn't help but fall in love with the growth, the bigger you got the giddier you became. Modelling in front of the mirror any chance you got, and when all the kids were asleep you'd talk to your belly and giggle with every shift they made.

"Listo?" He asks and you nod confidently. Oscar whistles over to Cesar giving him a thumbs up. Cesar turns down the music to gather everyone's attention. "I just want to thank everyone for coming out, it's been a while since we've all been in one place, right?"

The crowd mumbles in agreement. "But it's great to see everyone in good health and good spirits—" He raises his Corona bottle and the crowd follows with their drinks (including the kids and their juice boxes) "Salud." He smiles.

"Salud." The crowd repeats. You clear your throat and enthusiastically say, "Oh let me see if I can get a picture. Everyone gets in."

They shuffle into one pile as best they can, you grab your phone and hold it landscape, you press record and say, "Alright everybody in... great, now saaaay... Y/n and Spooky are having another babyyyy!"

There were collective gasps, the word "what!?" Being thrown around in every language. "Excuse me!?" Your mom hollers. You unbutton your cardigan and turn to the side having worn a tight dress on purpose. "Surpriiiiiise." You sing out.

"I FUCKING KNEW IT!" Jasmine screams stretching her arms out for you, you gasp and playfully smack her hand. "Not in front of my kids, puta!"

She tells you to shut up and hug her, your mom joins in and soon the children and in that moment it hits how loved and supported you are by everyone around you. This was your village and it was a damn good one too.

Oscar's friends dap him up and congratulate him. They hug you as well and whisper that they hope it's another girl. They loved spoiling your daughters. Anything they asked for the boys were sure to buy it no problema.

"Well, actually," You begin to say. "We know what we're having."

Rafa, your oldest comes up to you. "Is it a boy?" His eyes gloss over with the hope that you would say yes, he'd been hoping that Emilia (your third) was going to be a boy but he lucked out. You had an idea. You hunch over to match his eye level. "You see that cake over there." You whisper and he nods. "Papi and I were going to cut it, but I think you should get the first slice."

He shrugs and you walk him over to the white cream frosted cake. You and Oscar help him hold the knife and carefully slide the blade into the spongey treat making one incision and you help him make another. He pushes the knife under to take the slice out and plops it on his plate, he reaches for a fork when he looks down to see the inside was blue.

Nobody spoke. Nobody moved with the understanding this was his moment. He looks up at you. "You're having a boy!?"

You nod with tears spilling over and ruining your makeup. "I am."

He puts the plate down and hugs you tightly and that's when the crowd goes wild. "Thank you, Mommy." He sobs which makes you cry even more. "Oh, you're welcome sweetie."

— — Nine months had sped past you and it seemed as if it was just yesterday that you found out you were pregnant. Now, you lay on a hospital bed, covered over by a few blankets to help with post-partum shivers, your jaw rattling and fingers dancing involuntarily. But that wasn't your main focus.

Oscar hovered over you staring at the sleeping newborn in your arms. He made the cutest noises while he nuzzled against your chest. Your finger ghosts over his nose and he reacts by moving his head and sighing. "Are you sick of me already, mi hijo?(my son)" You joke nudging him with your nose. "You get used to her." Oscar chimes in and you suck your teeth hitting him as hard as you could. "Cállate culo."(Shut up, ass)

"Hitting me in front of my son?"

"And I'll do it again."

He smiles and leans down to kiss you. "You know I like you a little feisty, mami."

You sigh, so in love with your new baby, in love with your husband— just filled with overpouring affection. You can't stop staring at your new son and your husband couldn't stop gazing at either of you. He'd been in this room over and over and he swore up and down you made it look so easy, that you looked like a goddess bringing new air and life into this world. Even though you thought you looked like a monster from the swamp.

Oscar tells you in a loving tone. "You're doing an amazing job, seriously, you... you're just amazing."

You blink rapidly to keep tears from spilling over. When you met this man he was so rough and tough, such a brute that it seemed impossible to get him to even admit that he liked you, but under all that fake-cold persona, was the gentlest giant and the biggest sweetheart you'd ever met—a man who spreads nothing but positivity around you and your children.

"I'm so happy, I met you." He mutters. You were his wife, the mother of his children and his best friend rolled into one and that's all he wanted out of this life. You look up at him with glossy eyes. "I'm happy I met you too."

You share a kiss as a tear slips out, you just can't hold them back any longer. He kisses your forehead as his thumb swipes over your cheek. Your attention is drawn back to your son when he begins wiggling in your hold, you press your nose against his hair taking a whiff of that fresh baby smell. As you soak in the presence of your child, your husband's phone buzzes against the fabric of the diaper bag, he looks over and your mom's name catches his attention. He looks to you for some sort of permission and your brows furrow together. "It's okay."

He rushes over to answer, and just then your nurse walks in with a smile on her face. "Just came to check on mommy and baby." She announces.

"Ok... yeah, I'll meet you guys downstairs... bye." Oscar hangs up and looks over at you. "Your parents are here, with the kids. I'll just be back okay?"

"Mhm." You hum. He gives you a quick kiss before he speeds out of the room. The nurse smirks as she helps you adjust yourself into a somewhat comfortable sitting position, asking you if you'd like your son to be put back in the bassinet to which you respond yes and she gently takes him. "I apologize if this is forward but... I've seen a lot of couples in here and let me tell you, I've never seen anything like you two. He is so attentive."

You giggle. "Thank you. I just got really lucky with him."

A few minutes had passed and she had finished her check-up letting you know that she'd be back in a bit for another check-in. Once she left that's when your family, quietly, barged in. Oscar approaches you first with a sleeping Rosie in his arms and you happily reach for her and coddle her in your arms. Rafael, Elliana and Emilia gently charged over to you, shuffling off their shoes and finding their places on the bed with you. You greeted them as best as you could, with restricted movement all you could do was reach for their faces. Your parents and Oscar stand in the background of it all observing you in your motherly nature and Oscar can't fight the grin that has been plastered on his face since the day he met you.

"Baby." Emilia chimes in drawing everyone's attention to her now. "Yeah, mira, mommy had the baby."

Rafael seemed enamoured by the presence of his new sibling. He loved his sisters, you knew that, but by the looks of it-- this would be a special bond. "Rafa, would you like to hold him first?" Oscar asks.

He nodded eagerly and readied himself by sitting up straight and folding his arms. Oscar removes your son from his bassinet and carefully places him in Rafa's arms. The baby was a bit squirmy, upset that he'd been disturbed but with the soothing 'shhhh' from his mother's lips he settled down. Your two girls surround their brothers with curiosity.

Emilia giggles. "Hi, cutie."

"He's so tiny," Eliana mutters. Your parents finally make their way over to you after letting you have your moment with the kids. They congratulate you and your dad holds up a Chipotle bag and you beamed. "Thank you, this hospital food sucks." You whisper.

They attempted to take Rosie from you but you assured them it was fine, having missed her snuggles anyway. "Want me to feed you?" Your husband asks and you snicker shaking your head. "Está bien papito, I'll eat when I'm ready. But thank you."

— — After all the kids had their turn holding the baby their attention spans had turned to you and their father, telling you everything that had happened since you left the house.

"And then Ellie licked the cookie and put it back in my bowl," Rafa whines and you hold back a laugh. "Eliana you do not do that, that's gross."

She shrugs and nuzzles closer to her grandfather on the couch who is causing a ruckus with all his snoring. Your mom nudges him awake and he hits his famous line, "I'm not sleeping, I just closed my eyes."

"Think it's time for us to go." Your mom says. "Um.." Rafa chimes. "Is it okay if I stay?"

"I- yeah, I guess so." You answer. Oscar says that you'll keep Rosie since she has now found a new sleep space in his arms. Your mom carries a sleeping Emilia and your dad carries Eliana on his back. They say their goodbyes and are out the door.

— —

The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Rafael had fallen asleep on the couch while Rosie, who'd only woken up to ear and fell back into slumber, lay under her older brother's arm. You sigh contently as you gaze at them.

"Did you ever think when we met at that laundromat, that we'd be here?" Oscar mumbled as he held your baby boy, tracing his finger along his little nose. You turn to him. You shrug.

"Maybe with one kid... two.... But not five." You joked. He chuckled.

"Did you?"

He nods. "I knew you were gonna be my girl from the moment I picked up that sexy red bra you dropped-"

"Spookyyyy." You gasped gently hitting his arm.

He laughs. "Que? Man, once I saw those cups I started barking."

"You are so fucking stupid."

He shrugs. "I know. But I'm stupid in love with you."

You playfully rolled your eyes at his corny, yet sweet, line.

"I'm stupid in love with you too."

if you liked this fic feel free to like this fic. comments and reblogs are appreciated. hopefully, I'll be back a whole lot sooner. peace and love

tags: @darqchilddaydreamz @realhotgurlshit @skyesthebomb @librarian1002

Who might be interested: @miyahmaraj @bigenergy777 @educatorsareslutstoo @missdforever

#marleysfanfictions #spooky fanfic #on my block #marleywrites #fluff #on my block fanfic #spooky fanfiction #on my block fanfiction #oscar diaz x black!reader #oscar diaz fluff

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wisheslost · 4 months

Text

The white-eye warbles, the camellia blooms.

As a writer of Yae Publishing House, you have to visit the shrine for work purposes quite often— and it is on these shrine visits that you came to be even more acquainted with the yashiro commissioner, of whom you were previously known to only as that writer he had bumped into at the Irodori festival, in his sister's words; the most cliché way possible.

cw : mutual pining, friends/strangers to lovers, fluff, reader gets screamed at but its fine its not by ayato, no use of y/n, reader is technically an oc but is never referred to with a name. pls lmk if I should add more!

a/n : ive been meaning to post this but i kept stalling😭 sorry

wc : 5.4k

Kamisato Ayato is a smart man. The revered head of the Kamisato clan knows all there is to know about what's going on amidst the different commissions in Inazuma, but not a single clue does he have about the feelings you harbour for him, and who knows when he will?

You seldom had the opportunity to go to the shrine, and so, everytime you came down from the shrine, everytime you hurriedly made your way through Chinju forest, you did with the same intention in mind— to see Ayato. It didn't matter if he didn't notice you, just a glimpse of his face made your day better.

One of these very days, Ayato saw you pass, and much to your surprise, invited you in to have tea. In an attempt to be polite, and since you were done with work at the time, you accepted his sweet offer.

And so it continued — each time someone of the estate saw you passing by, they'd invite you in and offer you tea, while you tried your best to decline most of the time, sometimes it was just… not doable. Convincing Thoma was a hard job, but to persuade Miss Furuta to let you go was even more difficult.

Now, Ayato wasn't always there, sometimes he was out for a meeting or was doing work in his chamber ( the same chamber you found yourself too unimportant to enter, the chamber that felt almost suffocating to you the one time you went in there. ) but even when he was, if he heard of you having came, he'd offer you to tea with the condition that you had to wait till his work was done. You loved his company, so who were you to deny it?

And perhaps that love you had for the time you spent with him turned into the love you had for him.

You two weren't strangers. No, not at all. You bumped into each other during last year's Irodori festival, and in the most clichesque way ever, all your documents had fallen down, and being the gentleman he was, Ayato helped you pick them up ( obviously !).

Ayato found himself writing you a letter ever so often, and your reply to it that laid there among his official documents was the last to be opened of the day—but not the least, no, it was a way for him to conclude his day positively, or so he had told you. And as you two grew closer, you only found it easier to share your work with him, snippets of something you wrote that you were somewhat proud of , but that didn't make it into the published version of the story, a verse from a poem you gave up on writing, anything you thought he would like— you sent him, and eagerly waited for his reply.

You'd read him some of your poetry time to time— each time you came by his castle of a house, and each time he simply stared at you until you finished, and would then ask you why you used a certain metaphor to describe a certain thing, to which you'd happily answer, or commend you for having thought of something in such a different way, and at the end, he'd pass a rather funny comment, even if unintentionally, such as one like "I want this framed on my wall." to which you could do nothing but laugh, while he simply gazed at the beauty the sky harboured, seemingly deep in thought. Why he always did that, you did not know, and you could only wonder, what exactly did he think of each time?

Is showing your unpublished work to someone outside the Yae Publishing House breach of contract? No... Well, not exactly. You had agreed to abstaining from showing anyone anything that has to do with your unpublished literary pieces, but you knew the publishing house wasn't ever going to publish the poems you wrote on your own. They would say things like the topic's too vague, the metaphors don't make sense, and that the writing didn't flow, whatever that meant. So, what you wrote for the publishing house was what they demanded from you— quite different than what you actually wrote. Alas, they don’t understand your words when they're not catered to them. But it's fine, Ayato did, and what more could you ask for?

Actually, if given the chance, you would definitely ask for something more.

Kamisato Ayato understood social cues quite well, or atleast one would think he would, as that was a big part of his duty. So why he couldn't comprehend your feelings for him, was a mystery to you. But I guess understanding if someone likes you or not isn't really something listed in the skillset a Yashiro commissioner requires.

Now, what he could and couldn't understand was not your problem, and would no longer be, not after you confess your feelings to him. You figured it would be easier to do if you just played it out like one of your usual interactions, and so you wrote a poem. A poem you'd innocently read out to him one of those days you happen to stumble upon his house, and with it, he'd finally understand. Finally understand you liked him.

Something else popped up. A question much unappreciated. The worst outcome possible. “But what if he didn't like you back?” Well the poem isn't even for him then! It's from the point of view of one of my original characters— yes, that excuse is good enough.

But then the day finally arrived, you were finally there, sitting in Kamisato Estate's courtyard eagerly waiting for Ayato to be done with his meeting that had started just as you came, it was not often Ayato had meetings in his chamber, so it seems you just happened to have bad luck today. Sitting on the cushion, waiting for Ayato to be done, you found yourself making multiple revisions to that poem of yours, and in the middle of that, you were suddenly reminded of the meeting at Yae Publishing House you had this evening, but the thought soon slipped your mind as you thought of another line for the poem.

He had promised it would not take too long, but one hour had gone by just like that, and before you knew it, you were barely keeping awake, you couldn't help it, running on 2 hours of sleep from having worked all night, your mind was starting to shut down. Resting your head on the table was probably the first mistake you made that day— but one could argue there were plenty other mistakes made before that, such as not having slept in the first place.

You usually came to meet Ayato around the evening, not only because his workload was lighter that time of the day but also because the publishing house's important meetings and discussions of the sort were held most often, if not all the time, early in the day. And that was precisely why you had forgotten about that meeting you had this evening. Was it the two hours of sleep or the anxiety from the whole confession thing? whatever it was, it was just making your day harder and harder.

It had been an hour and a half since you arrived at Kamisato Estate, the hour spent waiting and scribbling, and the half spent peacefully sleeping as no one bothered to wake you up. It wasn't that the staff of the estate couldn't care less about you, in fact, everyone around noticed you having succumbed to slumber. But who dare to awaken you, Clan Head's possible significant other?

It's true that Ayato was unbeknownst to your feelings towards him, but those at Kamisato Estate weren't. It was easy to tell you had a thing for him, much too obvious that every time you saw him in the eye your heart skipped a beat, and practically every one of the estate's staff thought you two were together, and just trying to hide it. To them, the way you looked at Ayato, was the way he looked at you. His, a loving gaze that never lets go of your frame, and a soul that so desperately wants to tell the whole world how much he loves you(— but hell, he couldn't even fathom telling you) and Yours, a stare that quickly tries to focus on something else when noticed by him, a heart too heavy with emotions— emotions that cannot find their way through speech, and are expressed only through words.

And that serene and loving gaze was the first thing you saw being woken up, because in that whole house, no one except Clan Head himself would have the courage to wake you up.

It's not until Ayato's voice echoes in your ears accompanied by the faint pitter-patter of the rain that you realise your noses are barely inches away from touching as he knelt down to your level.

“Oh, my writer, it seems you've slept most wonderfully in my absence, and on Thoma's jacket, huh?” his tone had a bit of sneer in it, as if he was jealous of the fact you had used Thoma's jacket as a pillow. And there was that— “my writer”, it stemmed from an inside joke, wherein once when he was transcribing a poem you wrote, you called him ‘my personal calligrapher’ which warranted the “That would make you my writer, hm?” and you knew it was a joke but goodness, he called you that only when people weren't around, and the way he said it everytime, Oh Archons!

But wait— You weren't supposed to be swooning over Ayato right now! You should be at the publishing house, attending that meeting— and so you rose up frantically to leave, apologies leaving your mouth rapidly,

“Lord Commissioner, I'm so sorry but I must go, I had an important work thing and I- I'm sorry! I should hav-'' and that is when you get cut off by Ayato's forefinger upon your lips, if that was an attempt to shush you- it worked. “Just go. I understand.” he said, and the reassurance in his voice and the slight smile on his face brought you right back to your senses.

And so you hurriedly put on your shoes to make a run for it, uttering one final ‘sorry’ to him, much to his dismay. And as you made it out the door of the estate, you heard Ayato's voice calling to you- “Take an umbrella!” to which you could only respond— “I'll be fine! The rain's not that bad!” because right now, saving face at the publishing house was far more important than a few drops on your clothes.

Except it wasn't a few drops, you had greatly underestimated the power of the Hydro Archon, because by the time you reached the doors of the publishing house, you were completely wet from head to toe— and saving face was no longer present in your dictionary. In fact, you never even wanted to show your face again- and god, how many and who even were the people attending that meeting? because you were going to embarrass yourself in front of all of them right now.

The second you entered that room where the meeting was going on, as if your bad luck wasn't bad enough, you saw a figure too striking, bright pink hair.. fox ears.. and those eyes, those eyes that didn't take even a full two seconds to notice your presence and announce it to the whole room.

“Oh, look who's here! did the Yashiro Commission- er, reject you, my dear? or did you finally realise where your priorities should lie?” and right after she had said that, you could feel that theories about you and the commissioner had already began floating in the air of that room— whispers of a mixture of words like yashiro commissioner, head of the kamisato clan could be heard, and among them was that name a bit too familiar- Kamisato Ayato. How she knew about your yashiro commission shenanigans, you had no idea, but you weren't about to question her— Guuji Yae was no god, but people were convinced she definitely was omniscient, the way she never lacked information about the people she worked with.

You could swear on your life that the stutter after the words ‘yashiro commission’ was done on purpose, and you'd live. What she was trying to imply wasn't too obvious, in fact, the way she said it, it could easily be interpreted as something entirely different— but what was also true, only it wasn't something you were comfortable with everyone in that room knowing. You couldn't manage to respond to that, ‘tleast not in a way that would allow you to keep your job. And so Guuji Yae's lips spoke again, this time out of pity for you.

“But hey, better late than never.” she said, gesturing for you to come sit next to her.

And so the meeting went on like normal. You were trembling terribly from the cold, dripping wet still but there wasn't anything you could do about it, and as the guy sitting next to you took notice of that and offered you his jacket, you could feel watchful eyes throughout the room landing upon you two, waiting for your response. With the amount of writers present in this room, you knew this interaction was making its way into a light novel soon. Thinking of a response was hard, accepting it would give birth to more conspiracies, but not accepting it would blatantly prove Guuji Yae's previous comment about the yashiro commissioner right. And before you could think of a response to that awfully nice gesture, you were snapped out of your thoughts by your editor, who was currently explaining something on a whiteboard, something you failed to understand because of the preoccupations your mind currently had. “(Name), are you even paying attention !?” were his words, and as if enough people weren't already staring at you, now the whole room was. A nervously spoken ‘sorry’ was all you could let out, and it wasn't even a proper answer to his question.

The meeting dragged on for another 15 minutes— 15 dreadful, cold minutes. And when it was finally over and people were getting out of their seats and as if your luck wasn't already the worst, it only got worse-r as your editor called out to you right as you got up, “Not you. I still have to talk to you.” Did he not see you shivering? Looking like a sopping wet cat? Did he not have an ounce of sympathy?

As everyone else exited the room, you were forced to sit until who knows when. Guuji Yae was the last to leave, and before she stepped out the room, she called the editor over to speak to him, uttering something along the lines of what you thought was “Go easy on the poor thing, ok?” and was that poor thing in question you? most likely, yes. And good for that— he shouldn't think to disobey the owner of this whole establishment right?

But he did. Or atleast, the words that followed after she left did not seem like him ‘going easy on you’ at all.

The way he had his arms on the desk, the way his figure loomed over yours, that expression on his face… oh, you were about to be scolded big time.

“You, tell me. What exactly is your problem?”

“I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again, I apologise.” You couldn't even make eye contact with him as you spoke, and while your attempt at an apology was well delivered, it was terribly timed.

“If you were so fucking sorry as you claim to be, tell me, what the hell has been bothering you so damn much to arrive late to an important meeting when i had reminded you so many times the previous day!?”

Oh. That was a first— never before had you heard him swear like this, and you're pretty sure it probably falls under top 10 things you shouldn't do if you don't want to lose your job, but who were you to say? your job was being held together by a single thread made of miracles.

“I'm really sorry sir, it was just something personal- I can guarantee you, it won't ever happen again.” Ah yes, the infamous personal issue: the inability to manage a schedule.

“Did someone pass away?”

“..No.”

“Someone fall gravely ill?”

“..No”

“Family issues?”

“No-”

“Then WHAT the hell’s been bothering so much you show up late to a meeting with GUUJI YAE? Do you seriously not understand how fucking embarrassing it is? For the writer I had to practically beg for the higher-ups to not fire even though you kept being late and crossing deadlines, to show up late again?” He had yanked you out of your seat with his right hand midway through his speech out of the anger he possessed as of current, becoming physical when angry wasn't uncommon, but for someone who you always saw as calm and cool, for someone who always put up with you no matter what, the breaking point had arrived, and it was wholly your fault.

But you understood. Understood the reasons behind his furious reaction, for he was right, it was truly embarrassing, because that thread made out of miracles that was holding your job in place wasn't made out of miracles at all— it was made out of your editor's continued efforts to keep you in this organisation.

When you didn't, well, more like couldn't respond to him, and he realised the outburst he had just made, he let go of your upper arm, and his hand went back to the desk with his other arm, and as he regained his senses, looking down at the desk realising what he just did, he tried to apologise-

“I didn't mean to-”

“I-it's fine. You don't have to say anything.” Cutting him off was usually not something you would do, but at this moment, it felt right.

“I'm sorry, Please leave. And please, please don't tell anyone about this.” You could see the regret in his face as he sat down on his chair, head in hands refusing to make eye contact with you and instead choosing to stare at the hardwood floor instead, and you knew if anyone found out about this you both would be kicked out the publishing house together.

“I won't. Good night, sir.” and as you exited that room, you could hear a faint “good night” from your editor, who was too ashamed to even speak any louder.

And as you left, you failed to notice the bright pink figure of the Guuji beside the entrance of the conference room, who had eavesdropped on that entire conversation.

________

It had been 11 days since then. 11 days of Ayato wondering whatever it was that you wanted to tell him that day, hoping you would at least write him a letter. But no letter came, and neither did you.

While the Kamisato's days went by quite peacefully and ordinarily, yours were much, much different.

Back at Yae Publishing House that day, the Guuji held your editor back to tell him to get you to write some sort of romance novel around this plot– A careless writer who has amazing skill in writing, but barely manages to keep her job due to the troubles caused by her family, and her editor who has to beg the higher-ups to let her keep her job, who's also hopelessly in love with her.

While the plot is good, you weren't too happy having it recommended to you in that way. Does the Guuji think you have romantic feelings for your editor? or is it vice versa ?

Whatever it is that the Guuji thought, it didn't matter right now, because she demanded the first volume of the comic book that was about to be serialised be done in 15 days. With 11 days already gone by, and everything done on your part, you finally had some leisure time to enjoy, leisure time you were spending laying on the floor in front of the fan sipping cold lavender melon juice peacefully, almost on your way to dreamland.

That is, until you heard a knock on your door. When you went to open it, no one was there, or so you had thought, not having noticed the little kid dressed like a mujina at your doorstep at first, looking sleepy as ever.

“Oh, hello! What is it that brings you here to my doorstep, little one ?” as you bent down to greet the sleepy child, you felt a muscle in your back ache. Ah, the consequences of having the worst sleeping posture known to man.

“I'm not ‘little one’. My name is Sayu. I'm from the shuumatsuban, and Mr. Yashiro Commissioner sent me to relay an important message to you.” as she finishes her sentence, she hands you a little paper from her back pocket that says “I have something important to speak to you about. Come meet me. -your personal calligrapher”

Oh. You're done.

What could it possibly be about !? What could Kamisato Ayato, Clan head of the Kamisato Clan and the Yashiro Commissioner have to talk about that would be important to you !? Whatever it was, it was scaring you.

“Do I have to go right now?” as nervous as you were, you were also curious, what the hell was this man upto? and actually, was he even upto something, or was this just something to get you to come to the estate as quickly as possible?

“Yes, that's what he said anyway.” as she said this, Sayu sounded so, so done with you and Ayato that you couldn't really do anything. It seemed like if you didn't go right now, as soon as possible, Sayu would fall asleep right on your doorstep.

“Alright, then, let us leave. But wait- just one thing-” and so, you went to your bedside table to pick up that diary you always took to Kamisato Estate, the one you wrote that damnee confession in- but, it wasn't there? surely you placed it somewhere else when under the influence of fatigue and forgot.. Well, with Sayu's patience running thinner- you should probably just leave finding that diary to your future self.

Sayu was not at all interested in whatever it was that went on between you and Ayato, she kept quiet the whole way from your house to the Kamisato Estate, except for a yawn or two in the middle.

Your attempt at distracting yourself from whatever it was that Ayato wanted to talk to you about by looking at the flowers and the trees as you made your way to the estate was not quite successful.. for as the dew drops fell off from the roses, you could feel yourself perspire as well.

When you finally stepped foot in Kamisato Estate, you saw him, Kamisato Ayato, simply leaning on his balcony ledge gazing at the horizon, unaware of your resence and all he made you feel. You were quite sure this amount of sweating could submerge Jinren Island.

Jinren Island being submerged aside, no one was there at the estate except Ayato. Miss Furuta wasn't standing at her usual place, Koharu wasn't busy cleaning something that doesn't even look like it needs cleaning, and even Mr. Madarame was nowhere to be seen.

As you were busy analyzing the current state of the ground you were standing on, Sayu's voice spoke—

“Mr. Yashiro Commissioner, I brought them.”

Ayato turned around, his eyes finally meeting yours after what seemed to be an eternity to him.

“Oh, thank you Sayu. You may go now.”

As the man came to sit down, he signaled you to sit near him as well, contrary to how you would usually sit, on the opposite side of the table. “Sit here, you sure look like you need to.” his voice beamed, and you could feel your heart burst into eight thousand pieces upon hearing him talk to you again.

While you were most delighted to finally talk to him again, you couldn't help but wonder where the staff went, therefore naturally, you asked him as he poured his tea from the kettle into his little cup,

“So… where's all the staff gone?”

“Disappointed no one's here to give you free snacks, huh? Don't worry, I'm quite generous when it comes to my food, Here, want a sip?” and as his sentence came to an end, he offered you a cup of tea by raising it to your lips, which you pushed away as politely as you could. “You know I don’t drink tea, right? You asking me multiple times isn't going to change that..”

“Well, it was worth a try.”

“But seriously, where are all the staff? in all my days spent procrastinating here, I've never seen it so empty..”

“I told them to take a break as I was going to have an important person over to discuss some very important, urgent matters, and for that discussion, I need some privacy.”

“But then why not have the meeting in your chamber? Enough privacy there, no?”

“Of course, of course, but you see, this client of mine, they think my chamber is really stuffy and feels suffocating. So naturally, I decided to have said meeting here.”

“Oh, so uhm, when is this meeting of yours? considering the staff are already gone..It must be soon, yes?”

“Oh yes, yes.. Infact, for the staff, the meeting has already started.”

“Wait.. Am I..?”

“Go on, you're almost there.”

“Jackass, I'm the ‘super important’ person you were meeting, huh?”

“See, this is exactly why this meeting is being held. The way you address me, the way you talk to me.. it's not exactly the usual way I'm addressed.. Not even my friends behave this way with me.”

“You have friends?”

“Of course I- See ! that's my point, you talk so nonchalantly to me, what do you think people would think of you as when they see you acting like this in public ?”

“Disrespectful? Discourteous? Rude? Impolite? Ill-mannered?”

“My beautiful Oxford dictionary, that's not what I meant. Don't you think people would look at us joking around and think of us as lovers ?”

As soon as you heard that “beautiful”, oh goodness, you were done for. you had fallen so deep in love with this man it was beyond any find and rescue team to help you. you couldn't make an answer to that statement, no, you were busy in dreamland wondering if all these people at the estate saw you and Ayato talk to each other and thought, “oh, these two definitely have something going on.”

Snap. one snap of his fingers in front of your face, and you were thrown right back into reality.

“So?”

“Uhm, we don't go out much, actually, we've never gone out together, so that's not a problem as far as I'm concerned.”

“The way you say it.. it's almost like you're mad we never go out.”

“Well, we don't. I've never even stepped foot on the east side of the estate.. let alone go anywhere with you.”

“Hm? Let's go there then.” near the end of his sentence, he placed his teacup down and got up, walking to the same place he was standing before you came here, and so you followed.

As he leaned on the ledge of the balcony, his body facing the horizon, he looked at you, hands crossed, yours facing him.

“So? What do you think, are we qualified to go out now?” he spoke, turning towards you, and as he turned, he looked up at something and then smirked, his eyes returning to you. Goodness, he looked so hot— but wait, what was he staring at? before you could fully turn your head to face behind you, his left arm quickly got hold of the side of your neck that you were about to turn, “Why are you-”

“Answer my question first.” throughout this exchange, his hand was still there on your neck holding it from turning around.

“Yes, we can go out together, but what the hell is behind me that you don't want me to see?”

Leaning in towards your ear, he spoke. And to say his lips were one breath away from touching your temple is an understatement. “You remember the thing i told you about the staff, right? Well, they've all gathered near the first window of the second floor, and are currently looking at us, waiting for something to happen.” while he said all this, he was staring daggers into Thoma's soul, who, being the one who accidentally spread the rumour that Ayato was going to confess his feelings for you today, was awkwardly smiling at the slightly pissed off clan head, whose confession of love was about to turn into a source of entertainment for his staff, and of course, something to tease him about later for his sister, also present with the staff. Finishing his sentence, he finally pulled away from you.

“But.. waiting for what to happen..?” trying to get the butterflies in your stomach to calm down from what just happened, you focused back on the conversation.

“Waiting for me to confess.”

Stop the clock. He didn't mean confess his love, did he? Surely there's no way.

“C-confess what!?”

“That- ah, I can't believe I'm saying this in such an ordinary way, but listen, I'm not a man of poetry, or atleast, writing it. I tried to, believe me, but it just looked so awkward to me, nothing compared to what you wrote for me in your diary-”

“YOU READ THAT POEM?”

Ayato put his hands on your shoulders, and in an attempt to calm you down, spoke forth.

“Hey now! Let's calm down, alright? I didn't read anything beyond the 9th line because Ayaka snatched it away from me, so please, don’t be mad. I should have realised I was in no place to open someone else's very personal diary, and I don't even know if that poem was meant for me, but I just-”

“No.. Ayato, you're.. You're too sweet. I'm sure you had no ill intentions, I only freaked out because it was so surprising, and since it was indeed meant for you. And you can read the whole poem afterwards, but for now, please, please go on about what you were telling me.”

“I can't just go on like this, not after you've told me you wrote about me- Me, of all people! Me, after you've written about the sun, the seas, the sky, the surreal- after all that, you wrote about me. And so beautifully, too, I can't go on, not with my life, not with whatever it was I originally wanted to say.” his expression was one you had never seen before, so full of innocence, he looked like a wet puppy in the rain, like he'd die of a cold if you didn't shelter him right away, and you could swear you saw tears welling up in his eyes, and all this because you wrote about him, all this because his feelings were returned, all this because he finally felt loved.

You couldn't even respond, hell, you couldn't even choke back tears, and so as you were processing his words, you wrapped your arms around his torso and went in to hug him, sobbing into his chest. He returned the hug, one arm around your shoulders, and one running over your head, a tear dropping on your head as he did.

When you both pulled away from the hug, it was just laughter and wiping away each others’ tears, until you both were staring at each other fondly. And then Ayaka's voice could be heard from the back— “I told you they wouldn't kiss!” followed by a subdued Thoma, “my mora..”

“You know we can hear, right? And betting on my love life? Seriously?” As Ayato turned to reply to his sister, the staff scurried away, not wanting to be noticed by him, and as amused as you were, you didn't join in on the conversation, instead choosing to pull Ayato's collar towards yourself and pulling his lips onto yours. Before Ayaka could respond, Ayato leaned in to the kiss, cupping your face with his hands, and you could feel him smirk a bit.

He chuckled while pulling away from you, turning to a very surprised Ayaka and Thoma, mouths open in bewilderment,

“So... I guess Thoma wins?”

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