#y'all have been pressing this nerve for YEARS

[andersonfilms]

Abbys reaction to you telling her how hot she is while making out: "you're so hot I can't stand it it drives me crazy." - maybe the first time or one of the first times

ALL MY LOVE IS FREE

tags: eighteen+, lesbians obsessed with each other, had to post during lesbian visibilty week like c'mon???, just a big bag of fluff packaged with light steam, abby being a nervous goofball, sfw with suggestive themes.

an. sorry i kinda disappeared with posts. new collab is taking over my brain. but wanted to at least post something. can't wait for y'all to get a taste. until then, i'll be finishing the requests in my inbox (hopefully). with all the love, ray.

the end of your first date with abby marks a colossal milestone, especially for the two of you. the moment almost seemed monumental. taking one year of abby’s pining, six months of flirting and six months of tiptoeing while you were with someone else. respectfully, waiting until a month after the breakup, she asks you out.

unimaginable expectations abby had before going into tonight, but all she had to offer it seems was her nerves. god, she was acting like a dumb, mumbling, dork tonight. saying the first thought coming to mind, but it makes you laugh. when abby nearly eats it on the sidewalk, tripping over a crack of grout in the cement. your soft angelic voice taking her out for a moment, the only thing centering her from having a meltdown. 

“baby, are you alright? be careful, honey.” there it is, angelic. “wouldn’t want you to fall.” the first pet names hurled her way by you, making her heartbeat faster than she could keep up with. you cut her off at her knees, ensuring you are the only person she could ever want.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

it’s pretty obvious who was in control the entire night. if the two of you are friends, this night has a year of expectations, hopes, goals to meet and abby felt like she was failing. deeply.

as she walks you up to the front door, she knows the only thing she accomplished was letting you down. nothing went the way she thought it was going to. everything felt off. worst of all, your silence snuffs her out, completely.

you grab her hands, pulling her up the stairs with you. the collar feels too hot, tense, off. delicate fingers playing with the collar before you unclasp the buttons, keeping down before you move to her chest, placing your hand on abby’s inconsistent heartbeat.

“can i? s’tense, need you to loosen up for me. alright?” abby nods, accepting you can read her like the back of your hand. she just doesn’t want you to stop touching her. “get out of this head of yours. s’just me and you, no one else.” your nimble fingers pop the first three buttons, revealing her freckled chest, dipping into her sternum, giving you a delicious preview. she takes a deep breath, and you believe it’s the first one she’s allowed herself since she showed up with a bouquet of flowers in hand. 

“‘m sorry, i didn’t mean to ruin tonight. i just— it’s you. y’know? i’ve never wanted someone like this. been friends for ages and this is just everything. you are everything. i’ll never live with myself if i let you slip through my fingers.” her heartbeat calms under your touch the longer abby speaks, bringing a warmness to your own. “don’t worry about all of it. you’re not going to. i won’t let you.” 

“okay.” abby says as she gets lost in the light in your eyes. the fire visible behind yours. the way she’s looking at you? fuck. unimaginable desire — all for you. it almost seems too good to be true. like you don’t deserve it. waiting for the pin to drop, all the misery drowning you with it. “did you have a good time tonight?” 

“yes baby, i did.” you smirk as she inches forward, closing you into your front door. back pressed against it, her small breasts pressed to your chest, her free hand extended, next to your head as it lays flat on the door.

“s’good. wouldn’t want to kiss you if the date was bad.” all the confidence is back. the abby who flirted with you shamelessly for months on end. knowing you’re happy is enough for her. it’s all she needs to know to let the loser in her fall to ashes. but you taking the reins for a moment, does something so visceral inside her. she nearly doesn’t know how to act until her instincts kick in. 

she’ll satisfy you — just in the way she knows how. 

“what are y—” abby pressed her body weight into you, strong hips pinning you against the door using one of her hands to pin both of yours above your head. you’re whimpering, signaling your shock but the whine omitting from your lips tells abby your pussy is shocked. soaked.

“doing what i should have done months ago.” her pink plump lips meet yours, taking complete control over you. but you welcome it with open arms. she grunts in your mouth causing you to gasp as abby’s tongue enters your mouth. massaging it with yours in a swift battle for dominance. 

it’s too much but also not enough. you’re grinding against her, your crotch kissing hers as you lift a leg, wrapping it around her waist. she continues kissing you like her entire life depends on it. not letting you feel anything but her. she’ll be your everything and you’re not leaving until you understand it just as much as her. “abs—” you mumble in her mouth, abby relinquishes the tight grip on her hands.

immediately your hands are woven in her hair. tugging at the golden hair, as you try to pull her closer to you, if it was even possible. but the two of you have to come up for air, abby the first one to break as she chuckles at both of your heaving chests. 

“fuck, you’re so hot, baby. can’t stand it.” you peck her lips softly. admiring how puffy and swollen they look from her ministrations. god, you want her to devour you once again. “‘m, drives me crazy.” you admit, taking in the intoxicating smirk on her face. you’re not made into a fumbling mess easily. the both of you know it. that’s how abby knows it in her bones, she has you. fuck, she can’t ever imagine letting go. 

[jarofstyles]

Coconuts

idk where this came from tbh but I loved how It came out. 95% smut but I know y'all will never complain about that so :p 

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WC-4.6k

Warnings- smut, teasing, slight public play If you squint, slight degradation, but lighter compared to our other stuff. Cute

-------

Y/N could feel his eyes on her as she walked back towards him on the beach, his sunglasses doing little to hide the stare down he was having with her body. She’d known that this bathing suit would probably make him a little handsy, but it had been vastly underestimated how much it would distract him. There was not a single word being absorbed around him and she sort of felt like prey as she made her way to the rented cabana, tummy rumbling with both nerves and anticipation.

“What’s this, darling?” He asked as she flipped her sandals off on the raised wooden platform to avoid the spread of sand the best she could. He’d beaten her out here to set up their towels and made sure the daybed was good to go, as Y/N couldn’t handle another full day in the sun and needed the coverage the cabana would offer. He was being a doting and sweet boyfriend and she’d been planning on making him crazy.

“Hm? Oh, I got us those drinks in the coconuts.” She hummed, handing him one. It was part of the charm, their vacation essential, but he didn’t give the drink a second look before placing it on the little side table offered with the package. A tingle ran up her spine as warm hands grabbed the back of her thighs, urging her to step between his spread thighs while his brows furrowed behind the tinted lenses.

“You know that’s not what m’talking about, love.” He winced slightly at the light as Y/N pushed the glasses up into his hair so she could see his mossy eyes, resting her hand on his warm shoulder before taking a sip from her drink. It was a coconut rum cream type of thing and she knew she was going to be wasted on these, but that was the point. Wasn’t it?

But she was playing coy, tilting her head to the side as she gave him a look. “What do you mean, then?” It was exciting to play games with him. To tease him. Harry was a passionate man with a lot of redeeming qualities, but he was the most fun to tease. To watch him narrow his eyes at her and think about how she was most definitely going to pay for it later. It spiked her adrenaline, heartbeat quickening as his hands moved over her ass and to her hips. His thumbs dug into the dips back there, a deep exhale leaving his mouth and washing over her bare belly, heat pooling between her thighs as he leaned forward to press a chaste kiss right above her belly button.

“This bathing suit. I didn’t see you pack it.” He let her off the hook for playing dumb, rubbing his circles into the dips as he watched the corner of her lip temple as if trying not to smile. “I would remember a little thing like this. Barely fuckin’ there, is it?” His eyes found the tied strings at the sides of her waist. That was dangerous and the entire point. It was a deep red, the smallest thing she’d ever worn in public, and tied behind her neck and at her hips with flimsy strings. It was made to taunt him, make him needier than ever, and a bit of payback from the tiny yellow shorts he loved to wear. He knew just how much she loved his thighs and exactly what it did to her to see them exposed. Knowing what she liked to do on his bare thigh, right over the tattooed tiger.

“Oh, this old thing?” She smiled as innocently as she could. “It’s something from a few years back. I think my chest has gotten bigger since I originally bought it, but that’s not a problem… is it?”

“Actually,” Harry breathed. “It is.” He was quick to pull her into his lap, a squeak leaving her as he gave her a dark look. “Because you know exactly what this was going to do t’me and how it was going to make me feel, and you put it on anyway. You, you can hide when that perfect cunt gets wet and sticky. But me?” He glanced around before pulling her further over his lap so she could feel the growing bulge in his own bathing suit. “Can’t do much without scarring the rest of the people at this beach. You’re causing problems on purpose.” The voice he used was hushed and deep, going straight to her core. Of course it was the goal to get in trouble, but his reaction had been better than she anticipated. He shifted her slightly on his lap, subtly moving her over his length under the guise of adjusting her. “How do you think this is supposed t’get fixed? Want me to go have a wank in the restroom?”

“Nuh-uh.” She grinned. “I told you. I want all of you this trip.” Leaning to the side to place her own drink down, he hissed at the movement of her over his growing prick. “You’re not wasting a drop of you. It’ll get fixed, but m’not gonna rush off the beach before I’ve had my drink.” She shrugged, taking her hand that had been cooled by said drink to hold the side of his neck. There was a lot more satisfaction than she could admit when she saw him shiver at the temperature change. “This is my payback for those stupid yellow shorts you wore yesterday.”

Harry knew she could be vengeful. This cat and mouse game that had been him pursuing her had bled into the relationship and he loved that she liked to tease- but he loved that she was seeking a punishment out of it. “You know what I did in return for that?” He clicked his tongue. “I took you to the dressing area and fingered you until you dripped down my fingers. Had to hold your loud fucking mouth quiet, but I took care of it.” It wasn’t doing much good to think of it, especially considering his current predicament of trying not to get painfully hard, but it was one of his favorite things they’d ever done. Making Y/N melt into a desperate, horny mess had been one of his favorite pleasures in life, but knowing she was too needy to wait had stroked his ego.

The roles reversed, though? He wasn’t too sure. It would be noticeable if she was on her knees in the dressing tents, not just looking like an innocent couple leaving more tents open by changing under the same curtain. Her chest was distracting. It was glistening from the aftermath of freshly applied suncream, her breasts on full display and hanging just the way he liked. This bathing suit was his personal heaven. Or hell. He hadn’t quite decided yet.

“So how are you going to take care of me?”

Y/N knew she had been a little cruel, sure, but she could still feel the slight ache from how he’d fucked her last night. She wanted it again, but harder. He’d been a little soft beforehand and she figured he’d make use out of a little motivation.

“Aw, my poor baby.” She cooed, stroking his jaw as it clenched. “Getting hard for me. Can’t help it when you see my tits, hm? Or is it all of it?” There was a moment she pretended to think while he glared at her. “Probably all. But I’m not extremely cruel, Harry. Just giving you a taste of your own medicine. You failed to mention that you made me wait 3 hours until you took care of me.” It felt longer. “So we’re going to sit on this beach for 2. I’m going to have my drink, read my book, enjoy the warm breeze, and you’re going to sit with me. Then we can go back to the villa and you can do as you please.” She hummed, placing a wet kiss to his forehead before standing up from his lap. A towel was tossed his way, which he failed to catch because he was trying to pull her back into his lap. “Use this to hide yourself.” The smugness she felt was unmatched as she grabbed her book and found her way to the other side of the daybed, laying on her back to start the hardest reading session of her life.

—--

Harry didn’t make it easy on her. Not that she thought he would, considering she knew both of their histories of being menaces when in the mood, but she hadn’t expected to be so heavily affected by simple touches.

His fingers drew circles over her exposed hip as he spooned her, pretending to read over her shoulder. Quiet breaths puffed over the side of her neck as he nuzzled into her, sponging kisses there like clockwork. It was chaste enough that she couldn’t really scold him for it, but that didn’t mean it didn’t make her throb between her legs. It was her fault, she was torturing her own self with drawn out foreplay. Y/N rarely ever made Harry wait for it- she was far too greedy- so she struggled with holding her guns as she felt his fingers move further down to the bottom of her stomach, thumbing over the top of the little bathing suit bottoms.

It was a miracle she’d survived that far, and despite it only being an hour and 42 minutes, she thinks that it was good enough.

Pushing her into the villa, Harry’s hands rushed to tug the strings off of the suit, starting with the bottoms. “You evil little thing.” He growled against her mouth, pressing her up against the door as the red fabric fell to the ground and his hand slipped between her thighs. “What was the point of that, hm? You like being bad, pissing me off?” Fingers slid between her swollen, soaked folds and coated his skin just the way he knew it would. “Tortured yourself too. Could have just told me you wanted me to fuck you again and we could have spent the day in here.”

Y/N whined as she felt a digit sink into her, leaning further back against the door as he moved it slowly in and out of her. His fingers were thicker than her own, longer, making it much easier for him to reach places she couldn’t when she pleasured herself. His hands had always been a weakness for her, knowing how skilled he was in using them to create both art and pleasure. Coaxing the perfect orgasms from her since he’d met her. “Y-You teased me first.” She huffed, eyes fluttering as his mouth sucked over a part of her jaw that he knew would make her weaken. “What did you expect?”

“I expected you to be a big girl and tell me what you wanted, rather than parade around in this slutty little bathing suit and make me wait two hours before I could do anything about it.” He grumbled, teeth scraping over skin making her whimper. “I expected you to keep me in bed and spread your gorgeous thighs for me and tell me that you’re the neediest little thing, and you want my cock. I would have done it in a heartbeat. Instead, you chose to be a fucking brat. Because if you wanted to work me up, if you wanted me to be frustrated? It worked.” His opposite hand came down on her bare ass, the slap resonating through the villa and sting making her gasp. “What was the end goal?”

His finger was joined by another, making her eyes flutter and her brain slow down a little bit. He knew what he was doing- he always did. “Just wanted you to feel… to feel like I did. You made me wait and…” Her voice trailed off as it bled into a moan, his fingers hooking just so to hit the spot she needed.

“And?” He asked expectantly. “And what, sweetheart. Because I recall taking care of you. Even soaking, no one could tell. But everyone would be able to see my dick if I didn’t have that towel. Is that what you wanted? Wanted everyone to see me?”

“No!” She hissed. “No it’s- It’s mine. I just wanted, I wanted you to feel what I felt.” Her head fell back against the door with a thump, spreading her legs a bit more. Harry knew exactly what he was doing, he knew exactly what to do to make her weak. His quickening fingers and his hand gripping the side of her ass, he was making her see that she was definitely going to pay for it. “You’ve been driving me crazy the whole vacation and I… fuck.” Her words trailed off, the feel of the heel of his hand tapping against her clit with his thrusts making her brain fuzzy.

“You think you haven’t been driving me insane this whole time?” He asked, tone incredulous. “Think I havent been losing my fucking mind watching you walk around in these little bathing suits and sundresses? Think I haven’t had to be mindful of what m’wearing or what we’re doing because all I want to do is bend you over and hike up those dresses or pull down those bottoms and sink right back where I belong?” His voice hissed against her ear as he kissed over the side of neck, the sloppy pecks making her breathing pick up. “Because I have been fucking insane, I’ve been trying to be decent and make sure m’not hogging you in bed and let you go to the beaches and to the shops and to dinner, but I’d be perfectly happy with you in here, with our view of the ocean and you warming my cock.”

Y/N could feel herself getting close. It was hard not to with how worked up she’d gotten trying to tease him, the way he was talking to her, how his fingers always managed to coax the orgasms out of her faster than anyone else- including herself- ever had. “I would have- I would have, I want that, please.” She begged, which Harry knew all too well what that tone of voice meant. She was deliciously close, the slick of her arousal dribbling down his hand and she was just right there-

And he stopped. Y/N whined, tears welling in her eyes as she looked at him in disbelief. He was so generous with her pleasure that she hadn’t been expecting that in the slightest.

“If you hadn’t been a brat, maybe I would have let you.” He took his fingers from her, bringing them up to his mouth and made a show of licking them clean. Running them over his tongue with a soft hum and making a show of it as she scowled. “Mmm, none of that, my angel. You’ll get what you want. Just be patient.” Without another word he lifted her up, making her squeal as she was carried across the place before being deposited in the bed. Seeing as he was shirtless still, it was quick work to get himself naked, shorts kicked off to the side as he crawled up the bed and found her mouth right away.

She could taste herself on his tongue as he kissed her deeply, fingers finding the knots behind her neck to undo the swimsuit. It was quick work to pull the cups down, exposing the soft chest he had been obsessed with since day one. Pulling away with wet lips, he looked down at her exposed breasts, pebbled nipples calling to him as he grabbed under her arms to pull her up on the bed and stayed right where he was. “You know how cruel it is to have these right in front of my face, unable to do a thing?” His hushed words made her nod. She did know, she knew exactly how much he loved her chest and just how crazy it would drive him. “I know you did, pet. You know how much I fucking love your body.” His fingers plucked both nipples, squeezing lightly to make her gasp.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, feeling the heat throbbing even hotter as she looked at her. There was something in his eyes, the full lust, the desire and hunger that made her feel like the most desired person in the world. Like no one else could compare. Harry had the ability to make her feel as if she was the only one he’d ever had eyes for, the only one he ever would. She wanted to be his forever, hold on to this feeling and let it grow. “I’m sorry, I just wanted you.” Her whine was cute, he thought, but the apology didn’t cut it.

“I don’t think you are, my love. But you will be.” The man’s tongue brushed through the valley between her breasts, tasting the salt of her skin and the ocean air as it moved to the right one. He was getting her wet as he trailed down to her nipple, moving his fingers out of the way so he could do his job.

If you asked Harry if he was an ass or breast man, he’d tell you he was both- but he had a significant soft spot for Y/N’s chest. He’d been obsessed since the first time he saw her, but more so the first time she took her shirt off and let him suck on her. She was so sensitive, the little whimper she let out proving it as her fingers threaded into her hair and she pushed him further into the soft flesh. Hips moving while she tried to grind against his thigh feeling his lips pull more of her nipple into his mouth and sucked on the raised skin.

“Fuck me.” Y/N breathed, Harry’s thigh giving her a bit of mercy as he pressed it against her cunt. It limited how high she could move her hips, but he didn’t stop her from rubbing against him. His lips pulled and sucked, swirling his tongue over the nipple as he groaned against her breast. She could feel his cock against her thigh, feel it leaking over her skin and felt the desperation rising in her stomach to get him inside. She craved it just as much as he did, and had half a mind to demand him to make good on his promise of keeping him tucked inside of her so they could go again and again and again. It was an addiction, how his body made her feel. Desperate and needy, wet and achy, she had the best man to take care of her but he loved to fucking tease. “Inside me, please. I’ll be good, you can do it hard, I just need it. M’empty.”

Harry ignored her, pulling off of her right nipple and switching to her left. This time, though, he kept his eyes open and watched her face scrunch up with pleasure. It was able to be felt smeared all over his thigh as she ground herself against it, making a mess of him before he was even inside of her, but he loved it. Making her this desperate was his favorite thing to do and it wasn’t hard. His girl was sensitive and needy and he took pleasure in making her teary and begging for him. It was his payback.

Y/N mewled as his teeth scraped over the swollen nipple, hips jerking and hands tugging sharply at his hair which only spurred him on further. Sucking harder on the bud and making her keen out loud, hips bucking into the air before he finally released her. If he did too much he could probably make her finish from that, but that was something he wanted to try another day. His dick had been throbbing for hours now, and he wanted some relief.

“Lay on your stomach.” He ordered, watching her scramble to listen. He had gotten his point across and he knew it, a self satisfied smirk coming on his face as he pulled his briefs down and gave himself a few tugs. She laid down just as he said, her cheek to the pillow as she looked back at him with a soft pout on her lips. His sweet girl, desperate for his cock but trying to make it up to him now for being a tease. “Looks like you can listen. I’m so proud of you.” He crooned, kneeling on the bed and finding himself between her spread legs. “Ass up for me, darling girl. Let me see.”

She did as asked again, shuffling her knees so she was spread and tilted up for him. Her cunt was dripping and hot, empty and aching for him to fill her. Her plan had backfired significantly but at the end of the day, all she wanted was his cock. That’s been the goal this whole time. “Please. I need it, H.” She whispered, gripping the white sheets. “Give it to me. I can take it. M’sorry for teasing you.”

“I’m sure you are.” His hand spread her ass open, spitting over her hole and letting it drip down to her swollen clit where he took the tip of his cock and spread it all over her. “You know, I had a plan t’punish you even more, but.. Turns out, I’m fucking weak for this cunt.” He sighed, pushing the head into her and watching it stretch her a little bit. “I’m just as greedy for it. So m’gonna be nice to you and give you what you want, but I’ll remember this later.” His head pulled forward as he sunk deeper in, the hot channel making his brain go a bit fuzzy.

“Fuck, you’ve got perfect pussy, baby.” His tough exterior faded as his hips met her ass, exhaling sharply. “Can’t resist it. Make me a fucking mess every time.” The warm air flowed into their villa through the open door with the sea view, making him pause. Leaning down, he wrapped a hand around her throat and pulled her up to look at it, letting her shaky arms hold herself up as he began to thrust into her welcoming cunt. “Look at where I’ve brought you, baby. Beautiful views, but… This one will always be my favorite.” Lips brushed her ear as the sloppy sound of her soaked cunt being fucked by his prick filled the room. “Seeing you take my cock is my favorite thing. Most beautiful thing in the world, love that you let me own you like this.” His lips pressed against her cheek as she moaned. The firm grip around her throat had her fuzzy, this position making him feel so goddamn deep that she could barely breathe.

“I love it, I love you. Love your cock, love how you make me feel.” She babbled. “Just… Don’t pull out. Please.” Her begging seemed to spur him on, the slap of skin against skin getting louder while he fucked into her. The man was always greedy for her but his sexual frustration was showing, not at all going easy on her. It wasn’t mean, it wasn’t punishment, but pure lust. This was need, and Y/N was happy to be on the receiving end of it.

“M’not going to, baby. Promised you that you could have every drop.” He was nearly purring, breathing a bit heavy but more than satisfied as he fucked into her over and over again. “That’s a lot of love, but m’happy to hear it. Just want to make you happy, make you feel amazing. Don’t have to tease me to have my cock next time… just have to ask me in that pretty voice and give me those gorgeous eyes and I’ll give you anything you want.”

Y/N nodded even though his words sort of went through her. His slight adjustment to his position had him hitting the spot he needed to hit and she was making a fucking mess. She knew she was, hearing the wet sound increasing as he cursed under his breath. It was hard for her not to shudder as she gushed around him, feeling his balls tap against her clit as her watery eyes were forced to look out to the ocean. No words could leave her besides his name and a string of moans. His name was the only important thing, according to her brain.

“Got your cunt all sloppy for me… god, baby… I love you.” He moaned, feeling a little wrecked as he took a glance down to see himself covered in her. Wet and glistening from her how good he was giving it to her, it was another one of his favorite views. “Love my sweet girl and her sweet pussy, m’gonna give it to you over and over… fuck, you’re going to make me cum.” It was hard to keep holding on. Her skin was hot and he could feel he ragged breathing against his palm, her pulse thundering against his fingertips as he worked his prick into her weeping hole. “Never going to stop makin’ love to you, my perfect girl.”

Her orgasm surprised them both. He felt it come on as she whimpered his name, rippling against his cock and squeezing him hard as she shuddered underneath him. Her body fell forwards on the bed and he was done for, releasing her throat to fall on top of her and give a few more sloppy thrusts. A guttural groan left his throat as he buried his face into her neck, feeling his cock pulse and balls tighten as he unloaded inside of her. Keeping himself buried as promised, he ground himself as deep as he could and let it stay deep as his hips twitched, breathing heavy and hot against her skin. “Shit- god.” He croaked, pressing a sloppy stream of kisses from her neck to her cheek. “Fucks sake. Knew I wasn’t going to last a long time but, christ.” A drunken laugh left his throat as she hummed, turning her face with a pout.

“Kissy?” She whispered, lips puckering and effectively making his heart melt. He’d never say no to a kiss from her. It was an immediate wish granted, leaning closer to kiss her but making them both moan as the shift made his cock push further into her. He didn’t break away for a few moments though, pressing sticky pecks to her lips and sighing happily once she laid her cheek back on the pillow.

“Have a really hard time saying no t’you, sweetheart.” He admitted, keeping his face in her neck as he tried to recover.

“Good.” The girl’s voice was still a little shaky. “So you’ll go get me another coconut drink before we go again?”

“Again?” He laughed against her skin, biting down gently to make her yelp. “Fucking minx, my lovely little slut. Course she wants t’go again. I shouldn't have given you the benefit of the doubt. You’re my greedy girl.” Though no one would ever hear Harry complaining about that. His recovery time may need a bit of work if they were going to spend all day here though. “I’m gonna say yes, but only because I want you to lay here and keep my cum inside you.” The man was definitely catching her onto her neediness. “As hot as it is when it drips down your thigh, we don’t want to waste any. So lay here and be pretty for me while I go get you that silly little drink. M’not gonna go as easy next time.”

“Sounds perfect.” The giggle was music to his damn ears. “But don’t forget the cute little umbrella, kay? Need it to be part of the experience.”

[queen-of-fanfics]

I Told You To Stay pt.2 (NSFW)

Pairing: Peter Pan x Reader

Prompt: After chasing you down, Peter catches you in the forest and things get ... spicy

A/N: Hi!! So, I know it's been a year since the first part, but I felt inspired, and I love that you guys enjoyed it! THERE IS A SPICY SCENE AT THE END OF THIS PART! I indicated it in case anyone doesn't want to read some nasty; you can skip it. :) I don't ever do NSFW scenes, but I felt like this needed it.

I am expecting to write a part 3, but I was requested to make something angsty, so the next part will wrap up this little series, but not in a happily ever after. So if you want something sweet and happy, you can stop this little series with this part, but if you want something angsty, you can keep going to part 3 (whenever that comes out) and feel some sad girl summer. But enjoy this and let me know what you think! If y'all hate it, I'm deleting it... jk jk .....

I Told You To Stay Pt. 1

What a compromising situation you found yourself in. Arms pinned above your head, held against a tree staring up into some very angry, yet worrying, eyes, you can’t help but want to laugh at your position. Figures, this is what you get for slipping out the window and running into the woods like hell hounds were nipping at your heels. But in all fairness, your actions were warranted. 

How else were you supposed to react when Peter brought you back to his secret cabin after spending a romantic night together and then suddenly, Wendy is at said so-called “secret cabin” calling him ‘baby’ and trying to rub up on him? Regardless of Peter’s denials, it’s hard to believe that truth when she was standing right in front of you.

“I thought I told you to stay,” Peter says in a threateningly calm voice. 

“Let me go, Peter.” You tried to keep your voice calm, trying to seem nonchalant. You kept your face passive, but there was a war of emotions inside of you. 

You felt hurt. Angry. Embarrassed. Betrayed. And as much as you were trying to suppress it, you felt …. yearning. Even through all this, your heart was still looking for him in the darkness. It skipped and leaped in happiness that he was here. That he came racing after you. That he came looking for you when Wendy was probably waiting for him back at the cabin. The thought of her cause a bite of anger to shoot through you.

“Go back to Wendy, Peter.” You clipped.

“I told you to stay.” His voice was deadly. Deadly to your nerves and deadly to your heart.

Squeezing your eyes shut and blowing out a breath of frustration, trying desperately to get a hold of your temper that you could feel rising. “Go back to your cabin, Peter. Let me go.”

“I told you to stay. All you had to do was stay.” He snarled right back as if you hadn’t said a word and he had the audacity to sound upset with you!

Your eyes shot open and in a burst of adrenaline, you yanked your hands free and shoved against his chest, blurting “Let me go! You lied! I trusted you! I trusted you when everyone else laughed at me and you lied to me!” Shock flashed in his face quickly before he was able to hide it. You have never lost your temper or shown an ounce of venom since you’ve arrived to Neverland. 

You pushed at his chest and tried to shove up off the tree to make your escape, but he wasn’t budging. Instead of stepping back to give you the space you desperately wanted, he stepped into you. Your hands pressed against his chest and your back pressed into the tree. Your bodies were flesh against each other now.

“I have never lied to you, Y/N.” 

Scoffing in disbelief, your rising temper spoke for you, “You said that you and Wendy weren’t together.”

“Again. I have never lied to you.” He growled. 

“Oh really?” Your voice was dripping with sarcasm. “It didn’t look that way to me. My mistake. It definitely didn’t look like she was cozy in your place and on your body. Peter, I don’t know what game you’re playing but I don’t want any part of it. It looks like Wendy is already in the picture so I don’t want any part of this!” 

“Y/N, would you please just listen to me. I’ll explain everything.”

“I’ve been asking you to explain! I’ve been asking for months and you’ve avoided giving me even an ounce of clarity and now is when you want to explain?! Now that I’ve seen things clearly with my own eyes? I’m supposed to have faith in my feelings towards you but I have to ignore the proof right in front of me? The pair of you are playing mother and father all over this island and I’m supposed to ignore that?!”

“It is not like that.” He snapped, his own frustration growing. 

He went to grab your hands again but you batted them away. Pushing and shoving at his chest, you were desperate to get away. Feeling frantic, the anger you’ve been trying to smother was starting to bubble and rise to the surface. But now your feelings were out of control. Laying too close to the surface was your frustration, hurt, confusions and yearning. Somehow in all of this, your heart was still looking for him in the darkness. Feeling pinned and trapped, the frustration was bringing tears to your eyes.  

“Just listen, Y/N-”

“Get off me!”  

Fed up with your pats and pushes, Peter finally shoved your hands aside and firmly cupped your face. Bringing his forehead down to rest against yours, his fingers cradling the back of your head creating a warm cocoon of just you and him. 

 “My dear sweet, Y/N. Listen to me. I know asking you to put your trust in me is not a fair ask but I’m going to do it anyway. I have my reasons for keeping Wendy on this island, but I promise you, it’s not romantic. I have … suspicions about her that I need to resolve before I can decide what to do with her. But please just trust in me.” The sweetness of his soft voice and his request soaked into your heart the way watercolor soaks into fine paper. His softness and intimacy drained the fight from you, leaving you with only hurt. 

Not wanting to fall for his tricks and continue this loop, you whisper, “Please don’t do this, Peter. These mind games, I-I-I can’t! I’m too tired and too weak to survive you. Please-”

But before you could tell him off, he interrupts, “I know it’ll sound like an easy excuse or some made up lie but I’m telling the truth. I’m going to need your trust because it’ll sound like I’m paranoid, but I promise, this isn’t some easy way out excuse…. just something isn’t right with her. And things haven’t been right since she’s gotten here. I can feel a change in Neverland, but I can’t figure out what she’s done. I’ve caught her rifling through my things and trying to follow me. I’ve been letting her and acting as though I haven’t noticed, but only so that I can figure out what she is trying to do. But that’s how she found my cabin before. I didn’t take her there and I didn’t tell her about it, but she knows about it because she followed me one night. I’m telling you the truth. Just let me figure out what is going on and I’ll get rid of her.” His voice was earnest, like he was being honest but there was a whisper of doubt in the back of your mind. 

Maybe he was being truthful? But I haven’t noticed any changes in the island. But I guess I arrived around the same time Wendy did and didn’t know what it was like before. But he could also be lying just to keep me placated. 

Sensing your doubts, Peter tilts your head up and plants his lips on yours. One of his hands slide to the back of your nape to hold you steady for his onslaught of your mouth. His mouth was soft and warm. Sweet and demanding. Fervent but nervous. A man yet still a boy.

Tears finally slip down your face as you went the unwanted relief that washed over you. How could you want this man so much, a man you weren’t even sure if you could trust, but needed desperately. A man that made you weak with want but afraid of the fall. Against your lips, he whispers, “Please, Y/N, please,” but his kisses never stop and your heart tugs with every quiver you could feel from his lips. What was he asking for? What else could he want from you? But whatever it was … you knew you would give it to him. 

“Trust in me. I’m begging you, just trust in me. Let me show you. Come back to the cabin, I sent her away, you’ll see, she’s not there anymore.”

“It’s not just the cabin, Peter. It’s everything. She’s everywhere. I see you guys-”

“But have you ever seen me affectionate with her? Never. It’s never been like that. She might be donned the title of Lost Mother or whatever, but that doesn’t have any association to me. It’s all for the boys.”

“Peter-” He cut in before you could argue.

“Please. Just trust in me. Just enough so that I can prove it to you. Then decide for yourself, but for right now, just trust in me enough. Come back with me tonight. Don’t leave me.” And that was it. That was when your resolve broke and there was nothing you could do but pay heed to his request. With your heart in your throat, throwing caution to the wind, you return his kiss tenfold; letting your actions answer for you. 

~~~ it’s nasty time, ladies and gentlemen ~~~~

Your hands cup his jaw and you push up on your toes, slanting your head to deepen the kiss. You open your mouth in invitation and he accepts instantly. His tongues rushes in to meet and dance with yours; a happy reunion. His groan of relief vibrates through your body and your core tightens in excitement. Squeezing your thighs together to find any sort of relief and you run your hands down his chest to grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. 

Suddenly, Peter reaches down and hooks his arms behind your thighs before hoisting you up, your back against the tree and your legs wrapped around his hip, only his body keeping you suspended. The dress that you were wearing rides up high on your thigh and the cold air swirls against your burning skin cause goose bumps were pebble in their wake. Peter uses his hips to keep you pin against the tree but that meant that your could feel his hard member resting against your sex. 

Peter shoves his face into the crook of your neck and suckles and nibbles all along any exposed skin. His hands were gripping and kneading your ass as he was supporting your weight. Almost like he couldn’t help himself, Peter rocks his hips into yours pulling a gasp from you and a groan from him at the sudden delicious friction. “What have you done to me, Y/N? I can feel your grip on your mind and I can do nothing to stop you. You’ve bewitched me. All I could ever need is you, like this.” His whispered breath skates across your skin, burning your ears and curling your toes. 

Giving him easier access to your skin, your eyes close and your head rolls to the side. Unbeknwnsts to you, this movement causes the strap of your dress to slip off your shoulders, the top of your dress falling slightly, giving Peter a perfect view of the tops of your breast. You felt one of his hands tease up your legs and in between your flushed bodies. He pulls your panties to the side and your feel his fingers delve into your folds. You let out a small whimper as he hits his mark, using your wetness, he swirls his expert fingers around your clit with ease. “Peter, please.” His name fell from your lips like a prayer, causing his to chuckle and you yelp in surprise as he plants a firm bite on your neck, causing threads of pleasure down your spine. Your breast felt heavy and achy with need, every pant from you causing your nipples to rub against his chest. Your hips are now rolling on their own accord, moving in time with his torturing fingers.

“You keep begging sweetly like that and I won’t be able to stop myself from taking you right here. I’m barely holding onto my reserve right now, Y/N. I want nothing more than to throw you down and have my fill of you. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll tell me to stop right now.” 

Sighing dreamily, you tease, “Weren’t you the one who started this, hmm?” His movements slowed to a stop, and he simply held you for a long moment. Your heart felt like it was floating and soaring through the cloud, butterflies in your stomach as his breath fanned against your breast. “Yeah well … I’ve never been the reasonable one, have I?” You felt his smirk against your neck before it disappeared in his seriousness, “If you want me to stop, Y/N, you have to let me know now.” 

“You’ll stop if I ask?” Your whisper was barely heard as it floated through the silent night.

He was silent for a moment before he responded, “I would. It would kill me but I would. I would do anything you asked of me, Y/N. I would steal the moon for you if you asked it of me. Please … just stay with me.”

Wrapping your arms around his head and shoulders, you envelop the precious bundle that was clingy to you like you were his life source. How could you deny him? Tilting your head towards him so that you lips ghosted over his ear, you whisper, “I need you, Peter. Are you going to make me beg?”

You let out a started gasp as he shot to life. Your hands falling away from him and bracing behind you against the tree as one of his hands shot down to undo his pants while the other ripped the top of your dress down the middle, leaving the two sides falling open and revealing your body to him. Your dress hung loosely, like a belt wrapped around your waist now, your breasts exposed to the cool air causing your nipples to pebble. Suddenly his naked cock was dragging between your wet lips as he rocked against you, coating it with your arousal. Peter pushed to have his body flush against yours again and his face back in your neck, one hand went back to your ass while the other grabbed and squeezed at your breast. 

“Y/N. I need you. Hard and fast. I can’t think straight and having you like this is pushing me towards the brink of insanity. I can’t control myself right now.” 

“Don’t hold back, Peter. I need you, just as you are.” 

A pleasured cry and a “oh my god” was ripped from you when Peter lifted you and slid you the whole way down, taking his whole cock inside you until you were sitting flush against his thigh. “Oh, fuck, Y/N. My dreams are nothing compared to this.” 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he used you to milk his cock; using you to ride him. His arm flexing to lift you and his hips slamming up to meet you. His pace was brutal. His strength had you slamming down with a force that made your muscles squeeze and pulse with every thrust. Your cries were loud and obscene but his growls and grunt were feral; only causing you to react more frantically. Your hips your rolling to meet his thrusts and the strong kneading on your achy breasts and bites along your neck was almost too much to bare. In and out. In and out. Every slide and every slam sending pleasure to the tops of your head to the tips of your toes.

Then suddenly, his hand was there again, right on your clit with enough pressure that cause nearly painful pleasure. He continued to buck into you like a wild animal, your muscles clenched like a vice in satisfaction. He swirled and flicked with such precision as though he knew exactly what you felt and knew what you needed. Your head was swimming with arosual, your toes curling and your back arching against the rough texture on your back, cause little delicious scratches to scrape there. “Peter, I’m right there. Cum with me. I need you.” 

He slammed his lips into yours, drinking in all your cries, and his efforts doubled, then all at once, he stilled and groaned into your mouth, and he shook and emptied into you. Sweaty and panting, you both held each other, desperate to catch your breaths. After a few calm and blissful minutes, Peter softly kisses your jaw and whispers, “Come back with me, Y/N. Stay with me.”

With your eyes closed, your head rolled back, and your smile pointing up towards the dark sky, you whisper, “Ok, Peter. Take me home.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I Told You To Stay Pt. 1

tags: @fandom-fae @mmikeypopcornperil @layla2-49 @sjisfindingneverland @rainbow-alilou @hirohard0 @kaypan9909 @riordanness @vampbloodbunny2 @mk-the-great @fightformidnightx @lanelovesdilfs @queeniemariel @ariaroseloklover @quackitysdrugdealer @wildcatglove13 @james-800 @impossiblesaladwerewolf @bellarose-24

[plutoswritingplanet]

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.2

a/n: at my young, spry age, writing a twitter thread felt like "how do you do fellow kids", y'all better appreciate the sacrifice, Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: General Creepy Behavior, Plus Sized Reader, my inability to write a press conference yeehaw

Summary: First time in front of the cameras, you try to embrace your new persona... For better or worse

Pt.1 Pt.3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5

This isn't you. You're not here.

The face staring back at you from the mirror might have some resemblance, but the heavy, over the top makeup distorts your features in a way, that makes you almost unrecognizable. The moment you've signed that contract, someone took your soul straight out of your body, containing it in a box, far from your reach. Sometimes you can almost feel it, the real you, like a ghost passing through a room. The Smirnoff you've carefully crafted over the years. She's in the way you walk, shoulders hunched, like you're carrying the weight of the world on them. In the heavy feeling of cigarette smoke, settling into your lungs after a rough day.

In the shower, you can almost hear her as well. Your voice is off-key, low, and doesn't seem to remember half the words, but it's much more genuine than the chirpy, lobotomized tone they commanded you to talk in. Media training was pure hell. It only lasted an hour, as your schedule appeared to be pretty tight, but the way Ashley spoke to you, with an air of patronizing authority, made you grit your teeth at the mere memory.

This body, soft and pliable, stuffed crudely into a corset that dug itself into your skin, like it was trying to force you to fit a mold. Those exposed, fishnet clad legs, were not yours as well. They were surely someone else's. Yours were hidden under all those flowery long skirts you've gathered over the years, so proud of your thrifted collection, which is now gathering dust back home. That's where you left the box with your soul, stacked it away under flowy linens and music sheets from your lessons. 

You ponder over this feeling. This complete separation from your body. Perhaps this was your true superpower. And then your phone alarm goes off, and everything is shoved down, as your platform boots... No... Fireball's platform boots, carry you out of your room and down the corridor. 

Homelander is already waiting for you, his stature imposing, looming  over a crowd of backstage workers, as they clean off any imperfections before the press conference. His eyes snap towards you, the moment you step into the room, and you swallow thickly, remembering your last, admittedly, very fucking weird interaction. Ashley flashes past you, giving you a quick once over, seemingly satisfied with your look. It's hard to tell really, she always seems to find some flaw that needs to be corrected.

- Did you read the talking points? - she asks, her eyes flickering between you, and her tablet.

- Mhm... - too low, you think, adjusting the tone of your voice slightly.

There's a lot of people, more than what you're used to. Moving past the red-head, you sneak a peak behind the heavy curtain, separating you from the reporters chattering outside. What you see, does nothing to calm your nerves, as your eyes scan over a crowd of smart dressed people, the microphones, the cameras. 

Perhaps, just perhaps, you've bitten off more than you can chew. 

- Nervous? - a familiar voice says to your side, and you pull back, like you've been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

Homelander looks almost exactly how you remember, when you saw him the first time. When he tried to convince you, he's every bit the perfect person from his movies. There's a charming smile plastered on his face, and he holds himself with an air of heroic otherworldliness, not a trace of the creepy, leering supe you've come to know. Your eyebrows furrow, but you decide to play along. You're not alone here, there's constant buzzing of surveilence around you, after all.

- Very much, yeah - you admit, sincerely, throwing a cautious look towards the podium.

He laughs in a weirdly boyish manner. You imagine, this is how a Ken doll would laugh, if it was alive. His hand reaches up, grabbing your shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. His touch feels like needles on your skin, but you smile nonetheless. Cameras, remember the cameras. There are people all around you, and as such, someone is surely watching.

- Don't worry, you'll do great - he announces, then leans forward, until his face stops mere inches from your ear, making your body freeze up at the proximity - Don't even think about embarrassing me out there. No outbursts, no remarks, just keep on smiling and be the fucking mascot they hired you to be.

Okay, ouch. He leans back, his expression never changing from that same, bright smile. You blink up at him a couple of times. It's honestly impressing, how he keeps up the appearance of a perfect, selfless hero. 

- Fucking hell, okay...

This time, the squeeze is anything but comforting, and you can feel all of his fingers dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

- Language - he scolds you with a pointed finger, and to anyone standing on the outside, the gesture might seem endearing.

You know the truth however, and it takes a lot of strength out of you, not to flip him off. It seems he's taking the role of a mentor a bit too seriously. Or perhaps, he's just a patronizing asshole. As you watch his plastic smile, you're more and more inclined to believe the second option.

Still, there is something grounding in the way he holds you close, his hand steering you towards the curtain, and as it leaves your shoulder, you find yourself feeling conflicted. Especially now, since the announcer is saying your name to the sound of moderate applause, which intensifies as soon as the curtain moves to the side, exposing you, and Homelander to the hungry eyes of the reporters. 

You knees start to wobble, as you're suddenly confronted with the reality of the flashing cameras, the lights, the voices. Your heart beats out of your chest, anxiety slowly but surely overtaking your body, and not knowing any other alternative, your hand reaches out in a gesture bordering on desperation.

Homelander flinches, when your fingers grab onto the material of his glove. His eyes flicker towards you for just a moment, taking in the rapidity of your pulse, thrumming through your veins. The shortness of breath, as your nails bite into the custom made leather. Your eyes are locked onto the reporters, and your body seems to be stuck in an awkward pose, in-between steps. Out of all the things, that could frighten you in your, frankly, hopeless situation, crowds were an unexpected turn of events. 

So much for the strong, independent whatever. Homelander lets your hand linger for just a moment, if only to amuse himself further, before he steps forward to the podium, adjusting the microphone to his height. Your fingers curl around air, and you force your back to straighten. 

- Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you all for coming - his voice booms through the conference room, and he takes a small pause, letting the applause subside - As you've probably been informed, I'm here to announce a very special, new member of The Seven. She'll be joining the team on a temporary basis, as a replacement for Lamplighter.

Shit. You swallow thickly, and Homelander's smirk grows into something sharper at the sound, hidden from everyone else but himself. 

- I give you, Fireball!

He turns to you with a flourish, inviting you to step towards the podium. Your eyes flicker towards his, and he gives you a pointed look, that makes your heart sink to the floor. Here you are, presented to the wolves by a much worse monster. Deep breaths, remember that fated hour of media training. There's a role to play, after all.

This isn't you. You're not here. 

A bright, practiced smile floats onto your features, and finally you take a step forward, your hands curling into tight fists at your sides. You can feel the texture of your matte lipstic pull at your lips, the high-end eyeliner sticking the corners of your eyes together. The reporters clap politely, and you try to focus on a point above their heads, like they taught you in high school. The last time you've been in front of such a crowd, was when your friend roped you into taking part in a student reedition of Heathers. A fucking miserable affair.

 You're a little bit too quiet, for a little bit too long, and Homelander bristles out of the corner of your eye. You can see his chest expand, as he inhales deeply. Then, he moves in front of you, standing closer to the microphone, and intentionally or not, saving you from all the curious looks. You take a moment to gather your bearings, closing your eyes for just a second.

- Now, we have limited time for questions, so let's keep it simple - he announces, scanning the crowd of raised hands. - Gentleman in the back?

- Hi, John Douglas VNN. A question for Fireball?

Homelander turns to you with that same, plastic smile, and you nod, trying to convince yourself, more than him, that you're ready to speak. He moves aside, just enough to make a sliver of space for you in front of the microphone, and you step up with a sigh. 

- Hey, what's up? - there's a tremble to your voice, which you try to swallow down. 

- I think we're all surprised by you joining The Seven - the man comments with a smirk - Can you tell us some more about the recruitment process?

You take a deep breath, imagine your friend in front of you, and lean against the podium with a lazy smile. You're not here, after all. This isn't you.

- Well, a video of me, helping out during a house fire went viral, and soon enough Vaught has offered me a temporary partnership. - there's a playful tilt to your words, and you can already see all the comments pouring in - Besides, y'all have seen the contract.

There's a murmur of sheepish laughter rolling over the conference room, and you swallow thickly, trying to fight off the dryness in your throat.

- Here, at the front? - Homelander cuts in, leaning closer as he speaks to the microphone. 

Absent-mindedly, you note he smells very, almost obscenely expensive, and your nose crinkles slightly as you take a breath. 

- Mileena Johnson, News Nation - a woman in a tasteful costume stands up - Given this sudden interest from Vaught, is it safe to assume you're not used to all this?

She looks around the room, then back to you and mirrors your smile, flashing her perfectly white teeth. With a sardonic expression, you lean towards the microphone again, some unknown, mischievous note entering your voice.

- Oh, yeah! - you confirm - I'm a media virgin, through and through.

There's a strangled sound of multiple people laughing, some reporters clearly thrilled by the joke, others shaking their head disapprovingly. There's a large portion just staring at you, and you fight off the urge to cringe at your own words. Then, there's a small noise, somewhere next to you, and pushed by curiosity, you look over at Homelander. He looks conflicted between keeping up the smile, and stepping in, eventually opting to lean back, his eyes shifting between you and the reporters with a hint of curiosity hidden behind them. 

And then he moves, shifting ever so slightly behind you, his hand finding purchase on the lower part of your back, his fingertips drumming lightly against the zipper. Your back straightens like a guitar string, a shiver of something running up your spine. With his free hand, he points towards another reporter, who stands up and introduces himself politely. 

It's hard for you to focus.

- How, in your opinion, an addition of such a young Hero will affect the team?

Homelander's hand climbs higher, towards the edge of your corset. You can feel his gloved fingertips dance across the stitching. 

- I'll do everything in my power to help the Seven fight for peace - you answer, voice slightly choked up, but your expression remains impassive.

- That's right! - Homelander chimes in, suddenly much more animated - Such a young, fresh, addition will surely motivate us to push ourselves even harder.

Another reporter raises her hand, and you're starting to scream internally, as Homelander's gloved hand abandons your corset in favor of running up your bare skin. Your smile falters for just a second, as he grabs onto the back of your neck, squeezing a few times, before letting his hand rest under your hair. 

- Something for the tabloids? - the reporter announces - I have to say, the both of you look great together, and since Homelander's recent breakup with Queen Meave, we're wondering, what exactly is the relationship between the two of you?

Fuck, fuckitty fuck fuck fuck, your brain scrambles for a proper response. That was not included in the talking points. Although eventual shipping was expected, you were aware of the culture, you though it would take some time for the thing to sail away. Unfortunately, the reporter blinks expectantly, and the longer you stay silent, the worse the rumors will undoubtedly get. Out of the corner of your eye, you can already see Homelander lean towards the mic, and knowing deep in your bones, that whatever he says, will be humiliating, you lurch forwards. 

- We're coworkers. He's my mentor, I'm his student. Do with that, what y'all want.

- Right, is there a chance that a romance may bloom? - the reporter pushes further, adjusting her glasses on her nose.

- I met him yesterday, y'all - you comment with an exasperated sigh, and force yourself to ignore the way Homelander's finger tangles itself into the hair growing at the base of your skull.

The reporter laughs and sits down, and this time you can't stop the sigh of relief from escaping your lips. Another hand shoots up in the back of the room, and Homelander points to it over your shoulder. A man in his thirties stands up, and even blinded by the reflectors, you can see the cocky smirk on his face. 

- I've seen the video - he starts, a flippant tone entering his voice - And I couldn't help but wonder, how did Vaught even let someone so inexperienced into the Tower?

It's quiet, dozens of eyes flicker nervously between you and Homelander, and his hand stills at your back. You're not here. This isn't you. And so, lips pulled back into a mean bastardization of a bright smile, you lean heavily on the podium, letting it all, proverbially, hang out.

- I flashed the doorman.

You don't have to have a degree in media analysis to notice the sudden uptake in flashing lights. Homelander's hand falls from your back in a languid motion, the leather of his glove dragging itself down your spine, before he moves, and takes up the entirety of space in front of the podium.

- And on that - he pauses, and pretends to look back at you, too lazy to actually commit to the bit - thrilling note, I'm afraid that's all the time we have for today. Thank you all for coming. God bless you all!

You wave a half assed goodbye to all the gathered people, and before anyone can say anything else, you turn on your heel and walk back towards a very pissed-off-looking Ashley. The white light of her tablet is illuminating her scowl, and involuntarily, you groan. 

- What the fuck was that? - she asks, before you get one word out - Freezing up like an idiot? Making stupid fucking jokes? 

Homelander enters soon after you, his expression unreadable. He stands in the back, arms crossed in front of his chest, observing your interaction with Ashley. Seemingly pondering over something. His inaction, somehow, makes flames of irritation rise inside your gut, and you direct your anger towards the red-headed woman.

- Stillwell is going to have my fucking head - Ashley lamments, eyes locked onto her tablet - This will be horrible for your ratings, not to mention Homelander's.

With a roll of your eyes, you step closer, grabbing the hardware and consequently, forcing her to look up at you.

- Oh yeah? - there's a note of bravery entering your voice, and Homelander's eyebrow shoots upwards - Check fucking Twitter.

For just a second, Ashley hesitates, blinking at you owlishly. Then, she taps away at the tablet, her features illuminated with blue. Homelander's hashtag is trending, as expected, but you can see your given Hero name right under it. The third hashtag makes you smirk. Ashley starts reading out loud.

"Have y'all seen that interaction between #Homelander and #Fireball?" 

There's a video, couple seconds long, where you can see yourself, frozen with nerves backstage, Homelander leaning over your form. From afar, it looks comforting, cute even. You smirk. It cuts to the moment his hand sneaked up your back. Even to you, the gesture looks like a show of support, although you're sure some groups of people will run with the romance storyline.

"I have an anxiety disorder, and #Fireball is showing clear signs of an anxiety attack"

"No media training seen in the room #iconic"

"Aww, look at #Homelander comforting her, they're so cute together"

"Did we collectively forget what he said during that graduation speech?"

"Let's normalize people learning and growing"

"It's honestly heartwarming, seeing someone with mental health problems in The Seven, I finally feel represented"

"And can we talk about how #Homelander handled the situation? Truly, #AmericasGreatestHero"

"#MentalHealthKing"

It's quiet on set for a long moment, as both Ashley and Homelander seem to take in this one Twitter thread, among many similar ones. You, holding in laughter to the best of your abilities, wait patiently, until Ashley finally looks up at you.

- I know, why I'm here - you tell her, and something passes across her features.

She clears her throat, swiping on her tablet.

- You have training with Black Noir in an hour - she informs you, her voice back to that professional, emotionless tone - We'll get some footage of it out to the public, so try to behave. 

- Yes Ma'am - you smile, and once again, she gives you a strange look, before turning on her heels, and walking away, a satisfied lightness to her steps.

It's only you and Homelander left backstage, and as you turn to face him, he's already looking at you with an appraising gaze. Despite yourself, despite his borderline creepy behavior, and the threats, and the touches, you can't help, but smile. It starts off slow, a small smirk pulling at the corners of your mouth, but soon after that, all your teeth are on display. Because fuck it, you're proud of yourself, and for the first time since you've met him, Homelander doesn't look at you like you're a cut of meat on a bucther's rack. 

- That went so much better, than I expected - you breathe out, and he nods. 

- It sure was something - he says, leaning on a nearby pillar.

You bark a short laugh at his admission, the adrenaline from your first real encounter with the press, keeping you on a high you were not expecting. There's buzzing at the end of your fingertips, and you shake your hands, trying to dispell some of the energy. 

- Oh, I was ready to shit myself - you huff, shaking your head.

Homelander sucks on his teeth, his eyebrow shooting up.

- Language. - he reminds you, and you put up your hands in mock surrender.

It's easy, riding the wave of your newly found success. As such, you ignore the way his eyes glide all over your body, stopping rather obscenely at your chest. You pretend not to notice, the way his hands twitch at his sides, and you definitely don't see the tightness in his lower area. No, all of it doesn't matter, because you've proven your worth, not as much to Homelander, but to the company, and fuck, if it didn't feel good. 

Your enthusiasm turns to ashes in your mouth, as Homelander leans forward, invading your personal space like it wasn't yours to begin with. There's a glint of barely masked anger in his eyes, the blue of his irises getting swallowed by a dangerous, red sheen. Not enough to hurt anyone, but enough to let you know, you're on thin ice. Which confuses you beyond belief, because up until this point, you thought everything went peachy.

A gloved hand sneaks up, towards you chin, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough, you can imagine them chipping the bones underneath. 

- Next time - he seethes through gritted teeth - Keep your fucking mouth in check, or I'll find a better use for it.

Oh, that's new. Your soul leaves your body once again, the box locking it away with a click, that sounds like thunder in your ears. Homelander frowns, as if he can see the change happen right before his eyes. And perhaps, even through the fog of anger, he's perceptive enough. His posture falters slightly, as you take a step in his direction, or, more likely, Fireball does. 

- Why wait, I'm standing right here - the challenging note in your voice surprises both of you.

He blinks. You blink. And then, his face changes completely. The authoritarian expression of anger melts away into something you'd never expect. An almost childish sort of giddiness enters his eyes, and if you were yourself, not Fireball, you would've found the sparkling blue of his eyes enchanting. Terrifying, but impossible to look away. You should be thankful for this separation, it is surely saving your sanity. 

Before he can act out whatever his twisted, blonde mind conjured up, you slip past him like smoke out the window, your platform boots clicking against the floor. It doesn't matter, none of it matters. This isn't you after all. You're not here. 

It's long past her working hours, when Stillwelll finally has the time to sit down and unwind. Her phone screen reflects in the lenses of her reading glasses, a recognizable, Twitter-blue illuminating her features. Her eyes scan the site for a moment, and then, suddenly, her hand comes up to cover her mouth. 

There it is. A picture of her best project to date. You're standing awkwardly, shoulders tense, a sheen of sweat on your forehead mingling with a foundation, that's worth more than your entire wardrobe back home. Homelander's hand is holding you securely, fingers splayed at the skin of your back. And above the picture... "#MentalHealthKing" 

Stillwell laughs, quietly but sincerely. Who would've thought.

[yeeterthek33per]

Jealousy's a B**** (Steph Catley x Reader x Caitlin Foord)

A/n So this is officially my fifth attempt at this, I've accidentally managed to post it twice, way too early, and I'm honestly still not happy with it.

Also, sorry it took so long, y'all. 😅

But yeah, Caitley Fluff. (Caitley? Staitlin? Stetlin? Coord? Catoord? Fortley? Footley?)

Caitlin's been acting weird lately.

She's more clingy than usual, hands finding some part of you whenever you're just feet from each other.

You're sure Steph's noticed it too, but she hasn't said anything either. Just that she has a knowing look on her face whenever Caitlin latches onto you for the fifth time in an hour.

Normally, you wouldn't have minded, but when she does it at training... it gets a little distracting.

Particularly when practising marking for corners. It feels like she uses every opportunity to be pressed against you. She goes out of her way to mark you, to be the first to mark you despite not even sharing positions.

Her hands find your waist, gripping you tightly, and you have to smack them away with red cheeks so that you avoid being both held in place and also teased by the others.

She doesn't do it with Steph as much, but it's still prominent when you aren't a part of the drill.

Usually, you're pretty observant of anything going on with your girlfriends, but this has you completely befuddled.

Well.

That is until the game against Chelsea.

It'd been rough from the start, both teams eager to get the london derby underway from the start of the season, eager to see who could test the other the most in the coming days.

With Arsenal out of the Champions league, this was the most important game for your team to win. Arsenal needed to set itself up for precendence early.

With that came physicality. And fast. Every opportunity for a header was met with being held down by the waist. Every time you had the ball, it was met with a slide tackle. Every run was met with being held back by the arm or your shirt.

It was getting on your last nerve.

You knew the captain and her partner well. You loved them both like family, having spent years growing up with Magda and others playing on the same team as Pernille. Playing at Arsenal was the only time either of you had been separated.

Unfortunately, that fondness didn't translate onto the pitch.

Magda was the first one to take your feet out from under you, and Pernille was constantly on you, both of them knowing how well you linked up through the midfield and that you were a constant danger at any time on the ball.

Football is a physical game. You knew that.

But it was getting a little out of hand at this point.

Which brings you to now.

There's a foul just outside the penalty area winning Arsenal a free kick, which converts into a corner after the ball ricochets off Cuthbert.

Stood in line waiting for the in, you shift, ready to leap up for the header. As soon as the ball is lofted into the box, hands grip your waist, preventing you from making the header.

You shake it off the first time. And the second time.

The third time, Magda completely takes you off your feet, and you hit the turf with a groan of frustration. How was the ref not catching any of this?

The fourth and fifth times, you brush it off, but you can see Caitlin practically death glaring Magda as the swede pulls you up again.

What you didn't see was the constant hole Caitlin was boring into the Chelsea Captain's head when she even so much as stood near you. It got particularly bad when Magdalena dropped you on your butt.

The last time it happens that half, Caitlin spins around to yell to the umpire. The sideline ref spots it too, Magda is warned but nothing more.

Caitlin growls but returns to position with a look from you.

Half time can't come quick enough for you. The lockeroom is alight with various chatter as they all fire off strategies and mid game plays that need to be fixed. Your girlfriends sit either side of you, Caitlin's hand tightly gripping your leg, a beset half glare on her face.

"I need you all to just keep pressuring. My strikers, you're doing good, but it's just getting in for those shots where you need to be. Try to shake your defenders."

With a nod from all of you, you all make your way back to the pitch in a hopeful search of goals.

It's just minutes into the next half when it happens, you fight the hold, but in the end, you hit the pitch again. This time, it sets off the firey striker.

She sees you get pulled down and sees red, she gets right up in the captains face with almost no hesitation.

"What the hell is your problem?" She shoves the swede away from you, followed by the piercing screech of whistle behind her.

"Nothing, what's your problem?"

Magda shoves back a little, which leads to the others quickly pulling her away.

"Keep your hands off her. It's that simple Eriksson."

Realising your partner is about two seconds away from a yellow, you jump between them, too, quickly grabbing her by the shoulders to walk her away from the situation.

"Alright, that's enough outta both of you. Caitlin, you need to cool it. Do not get booted for this. It's not worth it."

"But she-"

"Caitlin! It's not worth it. Let it go."

She grunts but walks away, accepting the yellow card pointed in her direction.

The rest of the game goes as smoothly as it can. Occasionally, you catch Caitlin getting a little pushy with Pernille, too. But it's nothing major in the end, and the whistle blows in a nil all draw.

Exhausted but still in an okay mood given the results, you walk around to shake hands with the chelsea players and specifically go find Magda as well.

"Hey Magda, sorry about earlier, you know how feisty she gets. I'd say she's sorry as well, but-"

The blonde chuckles.

"Probably not, given the glare I'm receiving right now. Speaking of, how are your lover girls?"

You smile softly, a small flush creeping up your neck.

"Loving, sweet, caring as usual. Normally well behaved, I swear." She laughs at that.

"It's fine. What happens in the game stays in the game. Sorry about dropping you on your butt a lot there."

She winces slightly. You just jab poke her in the ribs and wrap an arm around her shoulders.

"Nah, that's nothing. It's not the worst thing you've done to me." It's a soft prod and she huffs at you.

"Excuse me. I thought we let that go already. Just because we used to torture each other as kids."

"We? You mean you used to do it. I was a total angel as a child."

"Oh, I'm sure you were, I heard all about your innocent professions from Magda's mum."

Pernille wraps her arm around your other side, hand ruffling your hair.

"Yeah, just like you weren't getting pushy either today." You look up at her, being unfortunately shorter than the platinum blonde.

"I have no idea what you're talking about søde."

A nudge from you makes her chuckle.

You chatter away with them in your second language, having learnt Swedish whilst living with the captain in sweden from the age of 10.

Your parents were travelling business people (Magda would call them deadbeats, but that's another story) having moved to Sweden when you were just five, growing up next to Magda for five years before your parents wanted to move back to Australia.

However, given that you'd become so close with the Eriksson family, they quickly agreed to let you stay with them, the travelling lifestyle rather cumbersome on a child your age.

You loved your parents, but they were more deadbeat than they liked to admit, and so Magda's mother became like your own, and Magda, a sister to you after accepting adoption by the swedish family.

As you banter away with them, Caitlin watches on from her position by the bench, a small scowl on her face.

They were clearly way too touchy with you. Pernille kissing your cheek occasionally, Magdalena's arm wrapped tightly around your waist, occasionally brushing away your hair as you talk animatedly, a small blush on your cheeks at one particular moment makes the heat rise in her chest.

But she wasn't jealous.

No.

Why would she be jealous?

A small poke to her side brings her out of her thoughts.

"What's up with you, grumpy?"

Steph's shiteating grin makes her roll her eyes.

"Nothing."

"Uhuh, right, like I'm sure Eriksson and Harder haven't felt the holes you're glaring in the side of their heads either."

She scoffs.

"I am not." Her cheeks turn red at the incredulous look she receives in return.

"Babe, you do know they're not flirting, right? Magda definitely isn't into her, and as far as I can tell, those are loving sibling noogies our girl is receiving from Pernille."

Caitlin turns back to you. Steph's right. Still, she doesn't like the way they're holding you.

At some point, you must feel her staring because you look over with a soft but mildly concerned smile, raising a brow in her direction.

She shakes her head and turns away, arms still folded across her chest as she moves to go into the locker room.

"What's up with your girl, Stephy?"

Steph chuckles softly.

"Oh, nothing. Just our girl getting attention from her adoptive sister, apparently. I don't think she knows."

Beth snorts.

"No, I don't think she does either."

They watch as the pair continue to rib you, eventually hugging them goodbye and promising to meet up at some point in the next week or so. Wandering back over to Steph, theres a mildly confused look on your face.

"What happened with Cait? Is she still upset over Magda taking me down?"

Steph shrugs.

"Maybe. You know why?"

You shrug as well.

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

The bus ride back is even more confusing.

She ends up planted in the spot next to you but far too quiet. Normally, she's sat next to Katie, where the two would be either bickering, playing card games, or giving each other shit over small plays during the game.

None of that, though, and it stays that way until you've returned home.

"Okay, what's going on with you? You've been quietly sulking since we got back."

The forward shrugs in response, having been pretty silent for the whole ride home, save for occasional hums as you and Steph chat about team drama and the girls' post game antics as well.

You exchange a look with Steph, who looks like she knows more than she's letting on with the small smirk that pulls at her lips.

Confused by the action, you turn back to your other girlfriend, whose eyes are locked on the ceiling now, avoiding your meeting your own.

You can't think of any reason she'd be upset. The game hadn't been majorly eventful aside from that one yellow card. Magda certainly wasn't malicious in her tackles, so there's no way she'd be holding a grudge over that. You'd basically gone straight home after the game, too.

She was acting fine up until-

Oh.

Oh.

A mischievous grin crawls across your lips, and you move to sit in the striker's lap, surprising her mildly.

Your hands force her to look up at you.

"Baby, were you jealous?"

She scoffs, stumbling slightly over her words.

"Wha- no, I have no idea what you're talking about."

You sit back slightly, hand on your chin in faux confusion.

"Hm, I could've sworn you were glaring at Magda and P earlier. You saw that, right, Steph?"

You turn to the brunette, who is watching on clearly amused if anything.

"Oh, I sure did, I mean, if looks could kill."

You chuckle at the pout that makes its way onto Caitlin's face.

"I was not-"

She huffs at the growing smile on your face.

"It's really cute that you think they were flirting, baby. But no, there's no reason for you to be jealous, baby."

"But I wasn't jealous. They were just far too touchy, and-" the raised brow you give her makes her sigh softly.

"Okay, maybe a little bit, but still, they were all kissy, and it was getting way too touchy."

"Babe."

"But honestly they kept hugging you and after the game where they kept holding you and tackling you and-"

Cutting off her rambling, your finger sits on her lips and you hush her.

"Cait. I grew up with Magda. She's my adoptive sister. And Pernille definitely was not flirting. She's far too taken with Magda. Plus, she treats me like a little sister, too."

"Oh." Her cheeks flush.

"Honestly, baby, I thought you knew this already?"

Her cheeks go a little redder.

"No, why would I know? You've never told me about that."

"I'm out with them every other week. I usually tell you both, too."

"When? The only time you go out with friends, all we get from you is 'Hey, you two, I'm going to lunch with my sister and her girlfriend-' oh."

Both you and Steph lose it at that, Steph face palming as she falls back onto the couch, chest shaking with laughter.

You bury your face into her shoulder, shoulders jumping as you try to hide your giggles.

Caitlin rolls her eyes affectionately.

"Yeah, yeah, very funny, you two."

It takes you a minute to catch your breath again, hands moving to cup her cheeks, eyes alight with mirth.

"You're adorable. God, I love you. Also, wanna talk to us about why you've been extra touchy lately, too?"

She shakes her head and pulls you down to kiss her fully.

"Shut up."

You chuckle but comply, letting her have her way for now.

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

Caitlin didn't think she'd end up getting the third degree on her day off, but here she is, being teased mercilessly, stuck between you and Steph while you all rib her about last weeks game and the hickies you turned up to training with.

Between Steph, Beth, and occasionally Magda and Pernille, it really wasn't ending.

"Honestly, I don't know how you two didn't see it, really. She looked ready to implode after you kissed her cheek."

"I did not!"

"Baby, please, you were so red in the face."

"I'd just played 90 minutes. What do you expect?"

Beth pokes the girl with her shoe.

"Please, there was steam coming out of those ears."

Laughter rings out across the table.

"Tell me again why you thought I was flirting during the game by tackling her?"

Caitlin rolls her eyes at the swede.

"I didn't say that either."

You scoff playfully, turning to the chelsea defender.

"Ah yes, the swedish charm never fails you, huh Mags?"

"Sweeping girls off their feet since age ten."

Caitlin shakes her head.

"Okay, but like, what about the handsyness during the game? Harder, you were the worst of it."

The dane shrugs.

"It annoys her. That's literally it. Frustrate your opponents, and you have an easier time winning."

You scoff.

"Excuse me, don't say it like it actually worked."

"It did work."

"What part of a draw means you won?"

"I just said it worked."

"Clearly." You cock a brow at her.

The blonde flips you off, taking a sip of her coffee.

You poke your tongue out at her. Pernille chuckles, turning to her girlfriend.

"Childish. See babe, what did I tell you?"

"That I'm clearly the more mature and better looking sibling? See Caitlin? You have nothing to be jealous over. There's no way my girl would leave me for this thing."

Beth snorts and Steph has to cover a laugh when you take a swipe at the blonde.

"Bitch!"

While the other's watch on amused as you both bicker, Caitlin simply smiles, realising she definitely has nothing to worry about and reminds herself how much you show her love constantly.

Her clinginess had come from nowhere, so she'd blown it off.

Steph, however, knew well where it came from. Caitlin just got jealous easily, regardless of her protests to calling it that. Jealousy really is a bitch.

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

[casuallyanidiot]

Moon Waltz [Yandere M. x Gn. Reader]

Made this around a year ago for a Halloween writers collab on Quotev

There are a lot of amazing one shots from authors there, and there's another collab being planned for 2024 if y'all would like to check this out. The theme was Childhood stories, and I chose to base my entry on the theme of music boxes.

On Halloween night, you fall into a strange world and with an even stranger man inside of it. He says he can bring you home by the next full moon, but things start to become odd when you find yourself becoming part of the world too...

Tw. For confinement, blood, manipulation, long post

26k words

Music boxes had fascinated you as a child, specifically the more detailed ones. The kind that had pretty little porcelain figurines on top and flowers painted onto the sides were your favorite. There was something about the looping melody, the softness of the whole the, and the spinning little people living out their lives in complete bliss. You loved it, and often you would imagine yourself carrying out the rest of your life just like that. In hazy daydreams and bouts of pretend, you could pretend that you too were made of glass and covered in delicate gold foil, twirling to a lovely tune.

Of course, as a kid, your parents didn’t really trust you with actually owning any of these admittedly very breakable objects. In fact, after being caught playing with any music boxes in your house a few times too many, your parents had decided to pack them all up in places you’d probably never be able to find them. The ballerinas, fairies, and princes were all packed up in layers of Styrofoam and plastic, sealed away in some closet that your younger self was always too afraid to peek into for some reason. 

Still, you loved the music boxes, and you begged your parents to let you hear them, let you look at them and imagine, to create stories and lives with a simple set of notes and fine china. So, from then on, any time you did good in school or for any other sort of special occasion, your parents took one out for you and set it onto the coffee table. You would sit there, a ball of energy and nerves, patiently as a child could as your mother wound up the music box as far as it could possibly go and place it down. She’d walk out of the room, just within earshot in case you decided to be a bit too rough with it and leave you to your own devices.

You have fuzzy memories of those moments. The sun would be fighting through the cheap curtains, making the room all hot and humid. But the light was pretty, and from where you pressed your little face onto the table, you could see the specs of dust floating around in the air, taking the center stage under the spotlight of sunbeam. And while you dreamed of dancing with porcelain figures, the soft plinks of the music would thrum out. With each note, you could feel the table slightly vibrate, and you along with it. After rewinding it countless times, one of your cheeks would tingle by the time your mom came back to fetch it.

And she would rewrap your little ornate world back up, and place it back until the next time you did something that warranted such a moment of unbridled peace.

It had been years since you were that easily satisfied, though. Now, you were more interested in other things, things that a college aged student you ought to be concerned with. Namely, the bonfire that was going to be held tonight by the lake.

The October air was chilly to say the least, and you watched from the window with mild interest as a few brightly colored leaves were swept up into the dimming eve. You weren’t really trying to take in the scenery of twilight tonight, it just kind of happened to be that you were so bored out of your mind that you had started picking up on the little things again. In all actuality, you had been keeping an eye out for any trick or treaters still roaming about. There had been a steady stream of kids skipping down your street to pound on your door, but they had all seemingly disappeared as soon as the sun even began to set.

When you were a kid, did you ever head in that early? You could have sworn that you had stayed out at least past this point in the evening, but your mom had always made it a point to hand you a flashlight and trail close behind while you ran around, so it wasn’t like you really had that much freedom back then. If you had gone out by yourself, you would have imagined her demanding you back less than an hour after you’d go out.

But anyways, there hadn’t been any kids in a while which was good since the little pathetic candy bowl you had was pretty much dried up. When your parents left the previous day, they had pointed out the two bags worth if treats that they had bought in preparation for all the trick or treaters, but you just had to guess that either they were largely underestimating how many people came up to your surprisingly secluded house at the end of the road, or they had been skimping out on these poor children.

You shook the plastic bowl, bright orange with a jack-o'-lantern style face by the way, and stepped away from the window. Guess there wasn’t much left to do tonight. The house was tidy, most of the candy was gone, and it was late enough where you could call it quits and turn on some cheesy movie to pass the rest of night in peace before you went to bed. Pretty uneventful, but hey, you had done what your parents had asked of you. You flipped off your porchlight, the universal signal to any would be trick or treaters that you would be handing out nothing, and slumped down onto the old, plush couch set up in front of the T.V.

You sighed as you lazily flipped through some channels and streaming apps, before settling on some low energy movie and snuggling into the mediocrity of the cushions. 

If it sounds like you weren’t having a pleasant time, it would be, well because it was the simple, honest and sucky truth. To put it plainly, you had been a bit of a loser in high school. Not very many friends, not the best grades, and hardly any joyous memory for your youth either. It sucked, but you managed to get into a local community college. It was there that, for the first time in what felt like forever, you had started having a social life. We’re talking classmates inviting you out to lunch, going on spontaneous car rides with people for no reason other than to hang out, goofing off in convenience stores, and finally getting decent grades once again. It had been so long since you had felt this accepted, this welcomed by people your age. 

It was wonderful, to be honest. All that time in high school you spent imagining yourself in better scenarios, ignoring your hurt, and convincing yourself that you were fine with the solitude that being a bit of a social outcast brought you had made you miss truly feeling like you belonged. You didn’t know when you had stopped feeling like that in the first place, but now that it was back, you didn’t want to do anything that would risk this new life you had been building up recently. 

So far, everything had been going pretty smoothly, and even your rather protective parents seemed to recognize how badly you needed this, how much happier you had been since you actually started making friends. And even though you were technically a grown adult, they gave you their permission to go out as much as you wanted. It had changed your relationship with them slightly, too. No longer was it you asking them to allow you to go out, but simply stating where you were going to be and a rough estimate of how long you'd be gone. The only thing they had requested of you was that you turn on your location so that they could see where you had been or where you were. For safety of course.

So, when your friend who you had been gradually growing closer with had invited you out to an annual university bonfire by the lake, that was right by your house mind you, you were ecstatic. This was your first real party! Sure there would probably be some alcohol there, but there would also be a large amount of people attending as well. It was an event that was widely known among the youth of your area, and it had been held many years prior to this one. Everyone knew about it. It was safe, and it was an opportunity for you to enjoy Halloween with your new social circle. You were excited, to say the least.

And then… your parents said absolutely not. The “My house my Rules” rhetoric was strong throughout their refusal, and you had to admit a bit of defeat there. After all, they let you live in your childhood home after high school rent free. Seeing as they had already booked a small trip out of town for the day of and week after Halloween, they didn’t want you going out without anyone to look out for you. Not wanting to argue any further, you grit your teeth and accepted the verdict.

But now, on your couch, you scrolled through your phone and all the messages expressing disappointment but understanding that you couldn’t attend, a new determination grew within you. You were grateful that your parents were so concerned about you, but this was a chance for you to live a little! Besides, the location of the bonfire party was close  to your home, and you had traversed the nearby woods enough times to be confident in your ability to not get lost. You sat up confidently before shooting a friend a text in the large group chat.

Actually! I can come! I’ll see you there!

Immediately, your phone began to blow up with excitement at the news. You knew of your shy reputation, and you also knew that many of your friends were ready to get you out of your shell, to help you try new things, to let you do whatever and have fun all the while. You smiled to yourself and giggled. Yeah, you were giddy, but who wouldn’t be? For the first time in your life, you were going out into the night hours. For the first time in your life, you were going to rebel. 

You giggled shamelessly as you threw on a thick, warm coat and a comfortable pair of shoes that would do a decent job of carrying you through the woods. An infectious smile played on your lips as you rushed to grab a flashlight and a pair of bunny ears that your parents had left you as a sad excuse for a Halloween costume on the dining room table. You shoved the cheap mess of felt and plastic on your head before practically skipping towards the back door. Your phone was still nestled in the back pocket of your pants, and you were suddenly aware of what you were about to do.

Your parents, who had only forbade you for concerns of your safety… Did they really deserve this? Did they deserve this blatant defiance of their wishes? Of course not, but hey, if you left your phone at home, then they probably would be none the wiser to your absence. 

So, you went back to the couch and set the device down gently. Your mom would definitely be freaking out the second she noticed that your location had been turned off, then your dad would probably start calling you nonstop. At that point they would call the cops to the house and your ass would be found out. So, the best option would be just to leave it here and hope nothing too crazy would happen tonight on your way there. Hopefully you could get a ride on the way back, though.

You left the T.V running on low volume and left out the back door to venture into the woods. There was a big, infectious smile on your face and a pep in your step while you wandered off to meet your friends. This was going to be great!

This, as it turned out, was not as great as you had hoped it’d be. You frustratedly kicked a branch out of your way while groaning.

  “ Ughhhh, there’s no fucking way I’m this dumb,” you said as you stomped through the vague path made by the few people, mainly kids, that would wander through whatever particular section of forest you had wandered in. Yeah, that’s right. You, in all your excitement, had gotten lost. Who knows for how long, because you didn’t bother to bring a watch or anything with you.

The dark wall of trees loomed over you mockingly. Its colossal mass of leaves and bark blocked any view of the moonlight struggling to stream down, and you felt this crushing weight of fear that had not been there moments before. Your stupid, horrid confidence had tricked you into thinking that this was a good idea (part of you still believed it was), and now you were at the mercy of whatever lurked in the brush. 

Wind curled chillingly around the bodies of wooden figures and cut directly into you. Your fingers had begun to grow numb from their lack of protection, and you brought your hands up to cup the warm puffs of breath you let out to prevent fall frostbite. Your eyes, holding back tears of frustration, stung with the nothingness of the night. It really was too dark to make your way back home at this point. The path you had taken had gotten tangled up like a spool of cheap yarn, and you weren’t sure that there was a way that you could safely find your backyard again, much less your intended party. 

In your wallowing, your gaze fixed upon a faint glimmer from between the trees. It wasn’t particularly bright or dazzling, but the haunting void of the woods offered you no greater comfort. Even if it wasn’t anything grand, a clearing of some kind would be better than staying where you were. I mean, if you were already lost, then why not spend the remainder of the evening looking up at the stars? It was a weak motivator, but honestly the paranoia of the canopy was too much for you to bear. Who knows what was hiding in them? 

So, you stumbled about for a little longer. The tip of your shoe caught on roots that jutted out above soil, and your clothes snagged on whatever stray twig reached out, but eventually you arrived at the source of silver shimmer that you had spied.

It was a little clearing, serene and silent save for the rustle of breeze upon the otherwise still water of the pond. The moon, which you could finally see now, shone merrily on its surface. The reflection bathed everything in bright gray, a stark contrast to the utter darkness you had been struggling through for what felt like eternity. More than just the moon, you could make out the constellations stretching across the night without any interruption. 

You could hear no frog croak, nor the faint humming of bugs. The only thing that reached your ears was your own stilling heartbeat as you decided to rest against a fallen log. Truthfully, you were exhausted. The adrenaline of getting lost had taken a lot out of you, and you held little hope of actually getting out of this stupid forest until the sun rose. Part of you wondered if your friends would think it was strange how you hadn’t showed; You really, really hoped that they wouldn’t call the cops to do a wellness check on you or anything. You would definitely get busted if that happened. 

You groaned in relief as you sunk down to the ground. The cold and damp soil pressed into the lines of your hands, and you cringed slightly at the feeling. You would be super uncomfortable for the rest of the night, but that was just the price you would have to pay for being dumb. Though, as shitty as this situation was, the pond was kind of nice. I mean, it was almost glowing in a way that you would see in a pretty oil painting that had all of the brushstrokes still visible. It wasn’t the body of water you were looking for, but it was still nice. You appreciated the peace it brought you in that moment. 

As you sat there, trying to close your eyes and soak up your surroundings, you heard a very familiar sound.

Plink

Your attention was captivated by that single note. Your heart began to beat and ache for the hazy nostalgia it brought. You knew what it was. You had craved the exact thing as a child, and even now you yearned for the fuzzy warmth that you knew it would bring.

Plink

It was behind you, in the log. You sat up unbelievably straight and twisted to look through the rotting wood. You could feel small spiders and bugs brush up against your fingers, but you persisted. The soft notes rung out slowly, pathetically, begging you to wind it up so it could play to completion. There was a crevice where cold moss had filled in, and you reared your hands back like a snake before striking. It was a clumsy, exhaustion driven endeavor, but you knew you had to find whatever was making the music.

The tips of your nails bumped against something solid. Another note played. Another Plink; you had found it. With some weird sense of desperation you grabbed it and wrenched it out of its place. Your chest heaved with some anxiety as you held it under the moonlight. 

A music box, detailed and ornate like the ones you used to love. The glossy porcelain shimmered like it was made with the finest jewels, and you shakily gazed over the little figurines sitting together on a sculpted, crescent moon, smiling and sitting shoulder to shoulder in complete bliss. You laughed a little. How could you not? In the worst situation you had ever physically been in, you had found a small piece of joy in both the clearing and a trinket that a child version of yourself would have gone ballistic over.

There, on your knees with the dampness of the grass soaking into your pants, you wound it up. The little couple on the moon spun idly as you held it in your hands. There were bits of grime and dirt covering its surface, and you had to wonder how loved it had been. Was anyone missing it? If so, you hoped that they wouldn’t mind having the object find a new home. You knew that if any of your beloved music boxes had somehow managed to wind up in such an odd place, you’d be more relieved to find that it had been loved rather than ripped apart by mother nature. 

You could pretend there in that clearing with that soft tune, on a night made for pretending mind you, that you were anywhere else. That you were living a fantastical life full of romance, adventure, and surrounded by a kind of beauty that could only be found in little delicate pieces, painted with care and crafted to spark comfort. 

When the gears within had stopped turning, you found yourself more calm than when you had been frantically searching for a way back home moments before. It was funny how just a stroke of familiarity could ground you. You held up the music box once more to examine it fully, your eyes squinting with some effort. Still transfixed by it, you began to shakily stand up. You weren’t really sure why. Perhaps you wanted to just stretch out your legs a bit, or maybe you wanted to move around to get some more warmth back into your admittedly freezing body. It didn’t really matter as to why you stood, but as soon as your wobbly calves were placed under your full weight, you stumbled to the side.

You squawked out in surprise as you tripped and careened towards the surface of the pond. You held the little music box tightly, your hands automatically cupping around the figures, as you braced for the impact of cold, frigid water.

Instead, you were met with cold, rigid ground.

Shock raced through your veins as you bluntly landed on your side, all the air leaving your lungs in an instant. You couldn’t breathe. Your chest sucked in and in but nothing was happening, and your limbs flailed around wildly, searching for anything to help. You took in large gasps, certain that you appeared as a beached fish, while your vision blurred and you somehow managed to roll onto your back.

Your entire body felt like it burned, your heart was racing to the point it was painful, and the world was a blur of silver and black, but after a few moments of struggling to calm down and breathe properly, you were able to somehow feel alright. You didn’t feel like it, but you also weren’t suffocating anymore so that was definitely the better outcome. Your hands were shaking as you held them in front of your face, and you could barely focus on them properly. Beyond the tips of your fingers, you could see the porcelain box. It had rolled away after you had dropped it at some point. 

You groaned as you sluggishly reached for it, forcing yourself to sit up along the way. After briefly confirming that the object was okay and not damaged, you quickly came to realize one majorly glaring issue: there were no trees. There actually was nothing that even resembled the little clearing you were in. No rotting log, no moist grass, no pond. No, you were sitting on a brick paved path, the tile made a pearlescent white, shimmering as your gaze raked across it. You blinked slowly a couple times to make sure that you weren’t hallucinating, only to find a large gate before you.

How you hadn’t noticed it before, no idea, but what you could see plainly was its otherworldly beauty. Swirling white wood formed into a circle, Glowing bright in a way that resembled the shining pond. It resembled, to be frank, the moon. Your lips parted wordlessly. 

“What the fuck?” You whispered very confusedly. The more lucid you became, the more clear it was that you were no longer in the forest by the lake. You were, evidently, sitting in front of a gate that was attached to no fence, sitting at the end of a pathway. When you frantically turned your head, you were met with the sight of a sprawling complex of ornate buildings, all connected by covered wooden paths. The place was lush with plants and flowers, and lanterns swayed softly as they lit up their surroundings with a dim, comforting hue.

It was gorgeous, out of a storybook even, but it was, as you quickly realized, all in various shades of silver. What you presumed to be wood was a sleek dark gray, and anything else held the appearance of being bathed in… well bathed in moonlight. You tilted your head up quickly, and your breathing became rapid at the suspicion that had sneaked into your head. Up, there in the deep inkwells of the sky, were stars. Many constellations peppered the night like freckles, and they were clearer than you had ever seen before, even more so than earlier when you had arrived at the pond. It was breathtaking, but there was a lack of a certain presence that frightened you. There was no moon.

With that sudden realization, came a crashing noise. Your attention was snapped back to a lone figure standing on the path ahead of you, just before the complex. A tray laid by their feet, shards of shattered porcelain scattered about from what you presumed to be a cup, and the liquid held within it had spilled all over the ground. You were stunned, all the shock held within you being exemplified by the fact that standing before you was the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

He too was not exempt from the grayscale of this odd world you had entered, and his shining eyes had been surprised by your sudden arrival to his home (?). Neither of you moved from your respective spots, until an excited, infectious smile spread across his lips.

“ Welcome!” He spoke as he rushed forwards. He crouched down to your level, stretching out his hands and arms in a beckoning gesture. You curled into yourself a bit, the music box still in your hands. He faltered at your hesitation, the corners of his lips falling ever so slightly, and moved back. 

“ Uhm, forgive me. You must be frightened,” he apologized quickly. The rushed nature in his voice was not lost on you, and his kind smile was stretched too thin for you to really feel comfortable, but he was offering his hand out to you. On the smooth surface of his skin, you could see a desperation that was oddly familiar. Your quickly beating heart stilled slightly before you began to take in an actual good look at him.

He had silver eyes, reflective like the rest of the surroundings, framed by long lashes that you were sure touched his eyebrows. His complexion, a dark gray, was shiny like glass. You could see no blemish upon his exposed skin. He was as mystical as your surroundings. He was tall, with a lean and nimble build that showed with every movement he made. His hair was braided neatly, and you felt a twinge of both envy and awe at the way his locks fell below his waist.

Slowly, as if you might die if you actually touched him, you reached out and put your hand in his grasp. He laughed, softly and so quiet that you weren’t sure you were even supposed to hear it, and From there you were quickly pulled to your feet and tugged toward the complex of buildings. The man led you through the open halls, which were more confusing than you had originally gleaned, shooting you quick, joyful glances. The wooden planks under your feet creaked loudly, there was some faint rustling from the flora, and yet other than that, there was no noise. It unnerved you to no degree. You clutched the music box closer to your chest as your ears searched for anything other than the whispers of the wind. 

It was almost apocalyptic, like you had stepped into the end of the world.

Finally, after winding through the halls, he stopped at a room with a curtain for a door. He brushed the sheer fabric aside and pulled you in excitedly. 

“ Here, sit down. I’ll make you tea!” he insisted. He put a hand on your back and pushed you towards a dusty table. A little stove and sink was in one corner, and it didn’t take you long to identify this place as a little kitchen. You didn’t know what else to do, so you pulled out a chair and settled into it. He bustled about, hurriedly opening cabinets and getting everything ready. You watched him wordlessly, not really sure what to do.

It was obvious that this man was not expecting your presence here if the shattered glass, that he had left by where he found you by the way, was anything to go by. The odd appearance of this place combined with the way you got there in the first place confirmed that either you were hallucinating, or you had somehow gone to a place that was definitely not earth. Your stomach twisted into tight knots at the thought of that. 

The soft clunk of a teacup on wood brought you out of what was likely the start of a spiral, and you looked up to see the eager, smiling face of the man. The steaming cup was pushed gently to your side of the table; he sat opposite of you, watching intently as you stared at the beverage.

“ I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I made black tea. Do you need milk? Sugar?” He asked, already moving to get anything you desired.

“ Uhm, no, no. I’m fine!” you insisted. He sat back down quickly.

“ So uhhh, what is this place?” You cut right to the chase. You were too hopped up on adrenaline to really wait any longer. The pads of your fingers rubbed over the sides of the music box in a self serving manner as you swallowed nervously.

“ I will be honest, I’m not sure myself. I’ve been here for a while, though. I’m Samuel, by the way,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow. He seemed sheepish. It was like he was embarrassed about something small, like a pimple on your back, and not an entirely different plane of existence or wherever it is you were. 

“ Sorry if I seem…A bit odd. It’s been a while since I've, well, since I've talked to anyone,” he admitted. “ I’m terribly sorry if I've frightened you. You must be very confused.”

“Yeah no kidding,” you snorted out almost immediately. He winced at your grumbled words, and a pang of regret hit you. You uncrossed your arms. “ I’m fine,” you relented, “ just confused is all. I got lost and ended up here.” 

“ I see, could you perhaps recall what happened before you came here? It’s been such a long time since I arrived. I’m not even sure I can tell you what I was doing before I became part of this place,” he asked. 

“ What do you mean?”

“ I used to not live here. I was like you, and I used to roam as I pleased. This was a safe haven of some sort, and I kept returning until I felt as if I no longer wished to go back. That was ages ago, though. I can hardly remember it,” he explained. Odd, he looked only a few years older than you were. How long could he have been here to forget everything? Despite your concerns, you introduced yourself briefly and explained how you had strayed away from your path during the night. You briefly mentioned the party and took off your stupid rabbit ears that you were honestly surprised had stuck onto your head for so long at this point. You talked about finding the clearing and falling into the pond.

“ So yeah, that’s when I wound up uh by that moon thing where you found me. Here I am I guess,” you shrugged, not really feeling comfortable with his intense stare. The small little tidbits of information he had given you made it clear that the man was simply lonely. You weren’t exactly sure how long ‘ ages ‘ was, but you didn’t imagine that this little complex of buildings was a thriving social scene. You fiddled with the little figurines in your palms. The curve of the crescent moon fit into your palm like it was meant to be there, but they were starting to feel clammy from your nerves. You gently placed it on the table so you could wipe the sweat off of them, nearly missing the way he perked up.

“ Where ever did you get that?”

“ Huh? What do you mean?” 

“ Where did you get that? I’ve been searching for that for such a long time!” He exclaimed, reaching over to grab it. He snatched it up quickly, a large smile on his face. He held it up like it was a newborn baby, fondness etched into the structure of his face.

“ Oh, I found that before I fell into the pond,” you explained. Your fingers twitched, subconsciously you wanted to take it back.

“ Ah, I see. So it was out there… I would have been searching these halls for an eternity if it wasn’t for you. This is one of my most precious objects, you see.”

“ Oh, uh, you’re welcome I guess. Glad you could get it back,” you said, feeling a twinge of disappointment. The soft melody of the music box wasn’t something you could easily get out of your head, so you could understand his excitement at your discovery, but still that meant that you  were the one that would continue to remember that sweet song for who knows how long. Whatever, it was fine. You could probably scratch the itch by digging through an old closet at home and finding your parents’ collection. Speaking of which…

“ Uhm, how do I get home?” You asked. Your query seemed to break his joyous mood in an instant, his demeanor drooping like a kicked dog. “ I just, you know, I need to be back before people realize I’m missing. I’d, uh, yeah I’d get in a lot of trouble if my parents found out I snuck out,” you lamely explained. You hoped that he wouldn’t take you wanting to get the hell out of here wasn’t a reflection on his personality.

“ You wish to leave? Already?” You nodded, and he sighed sadly. “ I see. Well, it is a shame, really. I was quite enjoying our conversation. You seem like you have a lively character, and I’m sure that there are already people who miss your presence. I would’ve liked to further learn of your life and what it’s like out there right now, but that’s quite alright. Here, I’ll show you the correct way to exit this place.”

You felt relieved the second he stood up. Your cup of tea had barely been touched, and the pit in your stomach had become unbearable. Screw the party, screw Halloween, you just wanted to go and curl up in your bed, pass out and pretend that this whole thing had been just a very weird dream. You followed him out of the little kitchen eagerly, the tension melting away finally. After this, you’d probably be sore for days based on how stiff you were. 

“ I hope I’ve been a decent host. It really has been too long. I apologize for how…dysfunctional my home might seem. It really is beautiful, yet I find that there are simply too many rooms and halls for me to keep them properly tidy. I hope you didn’t mind,” Samuel chattered on as you approached the shiny pearlescent path that you originally arrived at. You considered his words briefly; they did make some sense. It would explain why the table had been so dusty even though he seemed sure about that being the first room he had in mind to bring you. It was only him though.  That gave the serene complex a lonely, melancholic air. 

You watched the way his locks fell down his back. They shone so brightly under moonlight that came from nowhere, and you felt a bit irked that you found someone so beautiful under such odd circumstances. If only you had met him at the party tonight. It probably would’ve only elevated the whole experience. Damn, if only you hadn’t gotten lost. 

“ Here we are,” he said softly as you approached the circular gate.

“ Does this really go back to Earth?”

“ I should hope so,” Samuel’s laugh was gentle and clear as a windchime. “ I mean this is how you got here. This is where I would go through any time I wanted to leave, when I used to do so that is.”

He reached a hand out, ready to go through the shimmering surface of the moonlike gate. His fingers grazed its surface, and his eyes widened slightly. He pressed his palm fully to it before turning to face you with what you could only describe as utter confusion.

“ What? What’s wrong?” You asked, concern clear in your demeanor. His gaze was pointed towards the ground, refusing to meet your eyes. “ Did it not work?” You gulped. At this point, you didn’t notice when exactly you did this, you had latched onto his arm a bit desperately. Finally, at this physical contact, you looked up to see his guilty expression.

“Ah, it, uh, it appears that we missed the window.”

So apparently, the gate that you had entered through only opened once a month on a full moon for a brief period of who knows how long. Samuel hadn’t been able to go through, so, because the universe loved you sooo much, you were stuck in this weird realm until when the next full moon rolled around, AKA, in a month. Basically you were stuck here. 

As pissed off as you were, there was really nothing you could do about it, so all you could do was really sit back and try to relax. Samuel had excitedly dragged you to show you more of the rooms in the complex. There were an incomprehensible amount of bedrooms, though you didn’t have much time to actually look at any of them properly before he had dragged you off to what he was most proud of.

“Here! You can have the room next to mine!” He had exclaimed as he threw open the door to an admittedly very nice bedroom. “ I’ll have to tidy it up a bit,” he remarked after you swiped your finger on the vanity surface and a coating of dust came up with it. “ I’ll rest here for tonight. You may take mine,” he stated. It wasn’t really an offer, more like a fact of the matter.

So you went to his room with a bundle of clothes Samuel had provided from a wardrobe. You had to shake it off for a little before you felt comfortable sliding into them, and they fit loose and baggy on your frame, but they were soft and comfortable so you didn’t particularly mind. You were alone for the first time since you had come here, and it was now that you weren’t swept up in the chaos of your temporary roommate's excitement that you were able to take in the true craftsmanship that was surrounding you. The furniture in his room was part of a set, the bed frame, desk, small armoire, chairs, and wardrobe all having vines and roses carved climbing up the surface of wood. 

It was lovely, and the curtains both by the small window and by the bed were a soft sheer silver, though you were glad that there was actually a door here. You weren’t sure that you would feel the safest if there wasn’t. Granted, there was no lock, but you’d rather have some kind of separation from a total stranger rather than none. There was a series of knocks, and you weakly called out,” Come in.” 

“ I came to make sure that everything was up to par,” he explained. “ Is everything alright? I mean, I understand that you’re not here under the most ideal circumstances, but I mean, is the room alright? I would like you to be comfortable.”

“ Yeah. It’s nice here. I mean yeah, you’re right this isn’t, like, ideal or whatever, but this is okay. Thank you for letting me stay here,” you said absently as you fussed with the sheets and pillows on the bed before sitting down. 

“ It’s hardly any trouble. There isn’t anywhere else to go,” he said pleasantly. “ Ah, I suppose I should leave you to rest. You’ve had an eventful night. Sleep well,” he said, hesitantly hovering by the door as he spoke.

“ Yeah, uh, goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He left after that. You managed to snuggle into the sheets without much difficulty. You had to admit, it was the most comfortable mattress you had ever laid on. It was like a dream, and you thought briefly about how you might actually be doing so. Part of you hoped that this was all some weird nightmare brought on by eating bad candy or something, and you were actually back at home laying on your couch. This was too elaborate, though. As you tried to fall asleep, you gazed at the pond and courtyard just beyond your window, watching as gauzy curtains floated on a gentle breeze wondering about what he meant that there was nothing else beyond here.

It hadn’t occurred to you the night before, but it turned out that the time here didn’t seem to pass the same as it did in the real world. When you had awoken, it was still night. When you left your room and asked Samuel, who was sitting in the courtyard by your door, about it, he had simply replied, “ That’s just how it is.”

He then asked you if you would like to help him clean up your room, and because you weren’t rude and would feel bad if you did make him do it all by himself, you agreed. He became elated afterwards, humming quietly to himself as he fetched some brooms, buckets, and rags from a small little closet down the hallway. 

“ I’ll make us some food soon,” he said, a smile settled on his lips, as he handed you a bucket. When he did so, his fingers brushed up against your own, lingering there for a few moments longer than you what probably would be acceptable. “ Do you, ah, have any preferences?”

“ Not really, just as long as it’s edible,” you laughed weakly, pulling away slightly. He nodded. 

“ I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.” 

The two of you got to work quickly. There was a thin layer of dust over every surface there. It made some sense; there was no need to hang out in a bedroom that wasn’t yours other than maybe for a change of scenery. Samuel made small talk with you as you swept, remarking on various items and books that he found while organizing things. There wasn’t much to be done really, the room looked as if it had been untouched for a long time. It wasn’t messy in the way where clothes and crap would be strewn around everywhere, but there were cobwebs that needed to be gone if you were gonna stay there for more than a night.

You had just finished up mopping the floors when the silver man paused in his dusting and suggested that you two finally take your break. You, running on an empty stomach, agreed pretty quickly. This led to you sitting in the open hallway outside of another small kitchen a couple doors down from the two bedrooms that were now being used. Your legs dangled over the side, your shoes brushing over the blades of shining grass. Behind you the soft sound of a wooden spoon scraping against a pan could be heard along with his humming. 

He had made you tea again, and this time you actually found yourself idly sipping it as a way to pass the time. It was peaceful here, you would admit that. Despite the large amount of skepticism you held, you had to acknowledge that as weird as it was, this was an okay change of pace. Yes, you would have rather spent your time doing assignments or strengthening your new friendships, but Samuel was nice if not a bit over eager, and there wasn’t anything inherently wrong with that. Maybe this was just a really weird way of making an equally weird connection with someone new. 

Plus, like you had noted many times before, he was insanely nice to look at. It was hard to not feel some small flutters in your chest when he looked at you like you were the only other person in the world, mainly because you actually were the only other person here. You were trying to not think about it too hard, though. You wouldn’t be staying here for long. Samuel handed you a small plate filled with eggs and rice with a pleasant expression.

“ It’s not very elaborate, but I hope that it’s enjoyable. I can make you something more flavorful at another time,” he said while taking up a seat next to you.

“ It’s pretty good,” you said after shoveling in a few mouthfuls, nodding with satisfaction.

“ That’s a relief,” he laughed. “ I’m glad that I don’t have to relearn how to cook or anything.”

“ Don’t worry about it too much. I’m not really a chef either. All I know how to make is some basic stuff like noodles. Oh, hey, that reminds me, where did you even get the stuff to make this?” You asked, gesturing slightly to the food. Samuel shrugged.

“ I’m not sure. It simply… appears. A Lot of items here just appear sometimes. There were times where I had to figure out how to use them correctly. Like the fridge. I’m not sure when it arrived or how, just that I had to figure out what it was used for. Some of my food just started appearing there from then on,” he pondered.

“ Hm, well that’s kind of cool,” you shrugged with a hum.

“ Yes, I suppose it is.”

Something that you noticed by your second day in the complex was that there was a lack of most modern technology. There were no radios, T.Vs, modern magazines, microwaves, computers or phones, landline or mobile, that you could find in the main building that you and Samuel were staying in. When you had brought this up to him, he had just stared at you with a slightly bewildered expression.

“ So you’ve never heard of a radio?” you asked a bit incredulously.

He shook his head. “ I’m not certain if I have. Perhaps you could detail it to me? It’s possible that I’ve seen one before,” he said earnestly, leaning over to you. 

The two of you had been sitting out on the lawn of the courtyard, just talking about various topics as they floated into the conversation. Your room had been cleaned out already, so now there wasn’t much to do but hang out. You had asked him if there was anything that he really had to do at one point, but as it turned out there weren’t any real responsibilities that came attached to this place. It was clear though that you were both interested in each other's lives, though, so getting to know each other was pretty high up on the list of things to do. 

“ Uh, never mind, It doesn’t really matter,” you laughed, waving off the whole technology issue. Samuel seemed hesitant to drop the subject, but then you started asking about other things, like how many rooms there were and if he had ever swam in the pond. Harmless topics like that seemed to bring back his excited chatter quickly, and the two of you continued on with your conversation. 

Though later, when you went to bed, you looked out at the stars and wondered just how long the silver locked man had been here exactly.

The third day you had woken up much earlier than Samuel, so you decided that it was time that you do a bit of exploring by yourself. He had shown you around the building your room was in briefly, you knew that there probably were more interesting things to be found in the other ones in the complex. You, in all your modern attention spanned glory, were curious and bored, so you quietly left your room so as to not disturb him and set out to check out the building that was closest to the gate. 

There wasn’t really anything out of the ordinary there other than the fact that it existed in this realm to begin with. It was different from the building with all of the bedrooms, though. There were more places that seemed suited for gathers of various sizes. From small, intimate rooms with couches, pillows and lamps that burned dimly to a large extended banquet table that could seat an impossible number of guests, It was clear that this space was made to house people. It wasn’t just this building though, it was the one with all the empty rooms. This place was supposed to hold life, and the fact that it seemed so desolate despite you and Samuel was a bit chilling. 

Still, you continued to look around, poking your nose into random closets and paging through books that were far too old for you to comfortably sit down and read them. Just like everything else there, there was dust to be found on everything. You had been thrown into a few hacking fits just by sitting down on a few dirty chairs, the upholstery pluming out with grime. 

Eventually, you stood in front of two doors, more large and ornate than any that you had seen previously, so of course you had to go inside. There was no way that you couldn’t, given the burning desire to just get up and do anything. So, you went in to discover, to your surprise, a library. Instantly, you recognized that this space must’ve been used by Samuel regularly, for one, there were signs of actual life everywhere. 

The shelves of the library went all the way up to the tall ceiling, and they were packed full of novels of all kinds of genres. There were scientific journals and romance volumes crammed next to each other, there were history books galore, and you even spied some copies of Shakespearean tragedies shoved next to poets that seemed to weave silk out of words. Your fingers ran over their spines, trying to decide if you actually wished to read something at the moment. It wasn’t like you were doing anything better, though.

Still, there were books strewn out on the tables, candles that had been melted down to the stub, and loose papers stacked into messy piles, even messier handwriting scrawled on their surface. Everything had this old, antique sort of feel to it, one that you would see people trying to desperately recreate online for the sake of living up to some aesthetic. You assumed that everything that was out of the shelves had been handpicked by Samuel, so you began to look through the novels.

As you did, a few trends became very noticeable. One, he seemed to be a sucker for romance. The books that he seemed to read the most, the ones with the cracked spines and softened paper edges were all stories of grand love. You hadn’t known him long enough to properly assess his character yet, but you wouldn’t deny that you could see him being of the tender hearted type, and these stories with prose that dripped with honey seemed to prove that. Not to mention, his writings were all poems that also seemed to focus on the concept of finding one’s true partner. He dreamed of it frequently, it seems. You put down the poems, feeling slightly uncomfortable with looking through something so personal, maybe a bit too late, but hey, you tried. 

Another thing that became quite clear was that most of the books and novels in the library had been published during or before the late 1800’s. You tried to think not too hard about the implications of that.

Eventually, you found a relatively easy read and settled in to really dig into the book on a comfy little couch that surprisingly didn’t have much dust on it. You had gotten maybe 20 minutes into it when you heard the sounds of hurried footsteps, slamming doors and your name being called. You jumped a bit when Samuel came bursting into the library, breathless and clearly just a bit frantic. You blinked at him owlishly as he panted like he had just ran a marathon. The second he caught sight of your tensed up self he let out a large sigh and seemed to physically crumple.

“ Oh good, you were here all this time,” he gasped out, a weak, trembling smile meeting his lips. He wobbled over to you quickly, and you could only really stare back at him.

“ Uhhh yeah, I wanted to see if I could find any books to read to, you know, pass the time. Is, uh, everything okay? You okay? Have a bad dream or something?” You asked with clear concern.

“ Ah, no everything is fine. I just, perhaps I got a bit carried away there. You’ll have to forgive me. I became very frightened when I realized you were not in your room this morning. Then I couldn’t find you anywhere else and I, well, I became worried for a moment. It’s all well now that I’ve found you haha,” Despite his small laughs, you could see that Samuel was still shaking. From fear or what, you weren’t sure, but he was obviously not alright.

“ Oh, well I’m sorry. I, uh, didn’t really want to wake you,” you explained, standing up so you could stand by him and offer a bit of support. You weren’t really sure what was the best course of action to take here, but maybe being understanding was the best route?

“ Of course, It’s really no trouble. No need to apologize. Although, if you could, just please let me know where you’ll be ahead of time? It would save me a great deal of worry,” He asked, his brows pinched up in concern. You bit your lip. This was not normal behavior, to be so worried about a near stranger disappearing and all, but then again, Samuel had been here by himself for what you presumed to be a very long time. If you really were the first person that had come here since he started living in this place full time, then wouldn’t it be natural that he was instantly clingy to the first social connection he’s had in a while?

“ Uh yeah, I can do that. Sure, uh, do you want to uh, go back to the courtyard or something? I wanted to uh grab some books first though,” you agreed and gestured to the shelves. He nodded quickly, and you didn’t fail to notice how he scrambled to hide his various pages of writing behind his back. You  pretended not to, more for his peace of mind. You quickly gathered up any novel that had caught your eye and shuffled out of the library a bit awkwardly. 

The next few days were spent just lazing about and reading any books that look vaguely interesting, and Samuel stuck by your side as much as possible. He tried to pretend that he wasn’t, making up some excuses about wanting to clean a room or him forgetting an object by where you were hanging out, but it appeared that at one point or another he realized how lame he probably sounded so he simply just started following you around the complex. You didn’t mind all that much. He was good company, and it was clear that he was just worried about being a bother. 

You had called him over a number of times to your side, and his bright expression was admittedly pretty lovely. It turned out that he had also read most of the books in the library, if not all of them. You found that out after he made remarks about a fantasy novel you had gotten pretty engrossed in and subsequently spoiled the ending for you. He had been very apologetic afterwards.

Like most days, the two of you would sit in the courtyard and the open hallways, laying down and talking about random subjects. It was one of these idle days that you finally broached a topic that you had been dying to know.

“How old are you anyways, Samuel?” You asked while lazily flipping through some pages that you had already gone through. He, who had simply been watching you, blinked surprised. 

“I’m not exactly sure. I believe that I am about the same as you,” he shrugged. Over the past few days, the two of you had become slightly more casual with each other. Spending all day within each other's company was bound to do that, but you found it to be interesting.

“ Well like, what was the last year before you started living here full time?”

“ Hmmmm, perhaps 1899? I recall many being restless about the incoming new year. You must have experienced that by now,” Samuel hung his head back in contemplation. You blinked in shock.

“ Dude what? You’re from the 1800’s!?” You pushed yourself up, more of your attention put on him.

‘Dude?” he mouthed out, confused by your wording.

“ It’s 2023 on Earth right now. That would make you over a hundred years old,” you explained, awe laced in your voice. You crawled over to him in what you could only assume was in a super unhinged manner. “ You’re like, super old.”

“ I am most certainly not old!” he cried, crossing his arms in protest. You laughed, the most open and expressive thing you had done since you had gotten to this odd place, and rolled onto your side unceremoniously, your body shaking with little snorts. At your response, he could only grin.

“ Come now! You can’t be serious!” he laughed. “ I am not!”

“ You totally are dude!” you playfully shot back. From there, your conversation devolved into a messy tangle of jabs, giggles, and jokes.

 The quietness of the complex melted away slowly as you filled it with the music of your voices intertwining. You would say something silly, and Samuel would respond with naive confusion. He wasn’t used to your kind of humor, but by god was he trying. You could see it in the small pinch of his brows before he would throw all of his 17th century logic to the wind and join in on your fun. 

It was almost like you were a kid again, playing with some other child that you would probably never see again after you left the park. A temporary best friend who you would spill your entire family’s business to as you ran around a swing set. That’s what Samuel was to you in a way. There was actually something kind of freeing about knowing that anything that happened in that weird realm would stay there with him. There was really no reason why you couldn’t be friends with him, even if any relationship built wasn’t very permanent. Besides, he seemed to actively want to interact with you at nearly all points of the day(?) despite knowing that you would be going away in about three weeks, so who were you to really deny that?

At some point the gate had changed in appearance. You had noticed on maybe a week into your stay while taking what you guessed to be a morning walk. The library had been calling your name, probably a product of nothing else but boredom, and you had taken a quick glance in its direction. You stopped in your tracks when you saw that part of the circle had been darkened. 

“ Huh,” you managed out weakly. That was certainly strange, you would have to ask Samuel about that later.

“ Why don’t you clean the rest of the rooms?” You asked him the next day. You had been doodling on a piece of paper while he had been writing what you assumed to be a poem. He had finally gotten comfortable enough with you to actually start doing things that he liked to pass the time, and the two of you had settled into a random drawing room with a table low to the ground. There was a plate of cookies and two steaming mugs of hot chocolate that you had made before your little hangout session had begun. He had been slightly wary of your presence in the kitchen, but you just had to shoo him off so that you could actually treat him to something.

It wasn’t like you were a super experienced baker or anything, but still, you just wanted to do a little something for him. 

“Hmm, I haven’t considered it in a while. A while ago I attempted to keep this entire place spotless, but after a while of doing so, I failed to see the point. It was an Era, as you would say,” He explained, pausing his writing for a moment to visibly think about it. The fountain pen perched in his fingers dripped ink slightly, causing a small, black splatter to appear on the paper. You giggled softly. “ Why? Do you wish to see them clean? I’ll do so if you want. All I ask is that you stay by my side and help as needed,” he offered, very sincerely too. You tried not to think of the way your face might have flushed at that, nor did you pay any mind to the tingling feeling racing up your skin.

“ Nah, I was just wondering. It would be a pretty big project to upkeep this place like how you do with our rooms. Though it would be something to do. Maybe we could pick a random room and clean it up tomorrow?” You suggested as you ran a stick of charcoal on your own paper, creating random lines and swirls. From the corner of your eyes, you could see his lips curl into a fond smile.

You didn’t want to meet his gaze, for you were harboring a sneaking suspicion that you were developing a crush on your new friend. Sure you had only known him for a week, but stranger things had happened. Plus, considering your isolation in high school and middle school, you never really had the chance to explore friendship much less romance. You were sure that Samuel was in a similar position; you could tell by the way his fingers would linger on your skin when ever he pushed you gently into wherever he wanted you to go, by the ways he would look at you as if you were the air he breathed, by way he acted like you were his last chance at anything and everything. 

That was a kind of attention you never had before, and had to admit that it was nice. The connection you had each other felt like a heavy blanket after an exhausting day. At least to you it did. But you knew that you really shouldn’t give in. You were going to leave soon, in like three weeks no less, and that gave you plenty of reasons to not give in to the warm feeling spreading through your chest whenever he gave you a smile. It was hard to ignore, though. 

“ That sounds like a lovely idea. Sounds like we’ll have a busy day ahead of us.”

From there your conversation fell into a comfortable silence. You focused mainly on your growing stack of drawings, the soft skrtching of both of your chosen utensils filling the space with noise. You drew corners of your home as best you could, some of your friends from college, jack-o'-lanterns, really whatever that floated into your mind at the moment. When you finally took a moment to pause from your “work”, you noticed that it was really quiet. Looking up, you could see that Samuel at some point had dozed off.

His arms rested against the table, his sleeves stained by the now dried ink of his poem, the words being a smudged mess of meter and rhyme. His braided locs fell over his face and back which softly rose and fell with every breath he took in. Your lips parted in slight surprise. Without really thinking about it, you leaned over the table to further see his resting visage. You drank in the way his long, silver lashes brushed up against his cheekbones. You blinked for a couple of moments, unsure of what to do. Honestly, you didn’t want to wake him up from his slumber, but you also didn’t want to keep staring at him. It was so unfair. He was too pretty to be real.

So, you quickly scribbled a note that you would be out exploring the rest of the complex and left it on the table before you scurried out of the drawing room as silently as you could. The creaking floors made it hard to do, but other than Samuel’s face scrunching up at a particularly loud squeak, you got out of there without disturbing him. From there you decided to walk through a building you hadn’t been to yet. 

It was cold there. Not just in the temperature, but in the general feel of the realm too. You looked on to the vast expanse of nothingness that stretched beyond the railings of the hallway, at the gray ground, at the stars that freckled the eternal night. There was no warmth, no love, no life here other than Samuel. You briefly recalled what he said to you when you had first met. How he was a part of this place now.

Did that mean he couldn’t leave?

You shrugged off the thought. He said it himself; he chose to be here. You probably shouldn’t pry into the matter. If you did, you weren’t certain that you could feel guiltless about leaving him behind here.

Today, you wanted to go to the building that sat just behind the other ones. It wasn’t by much, but you actively had to go slightly out of the way of the ones that surrounded the courtyard to get there. It had a slightly more gloomy air to it, but that only grew your interest further. 

There were fewer silver lamps glowing on its pathway than everywhere else, something that you thought pretty odd. Even more strange was the dust that covered the floorboards leading up to its darkened entrance. Dust was present everywhere here, it was just a fact, but none of the halls had been this neglected. Maybe Samuel just didn’t have any real reason to come here. 

You walked up to the double doors that led into the rest of the buildings, a bit strange considering that most of the buildings didn’t have anything other than the rooms that were purely indoors. Just another thing to make this one stand out. A trail of your footprints against the dust led up to where you were standing as you gave a couple hard yanks to the entrance before they finally gave way. Inside was almost completely pitch black save for a small window at the end of the hall letting in some shimmering light.

It was pretty eerie, but there was nothing to suggest that there was anything that would actively hurt you here, plus you had already come this far. You entered the dark building, peering at the closed doors with interest. You gripped onto the handle of the nearest one, attempting to push it open, but you didn’t have much luck. Locked, great. You huffed in slight frustration and moved on to try and get into any of the other rooms, but it was the same thing: A bunch of doors that wouldn’t open and your burning curiosity. You made your way down the hall attempting again and again until you finally reached the end of the hall. You were so close to the window that your shadow loomed across the floorboards in a warped manner. Part of you wondered if the light from the stars was really bright enough to have that kind of effect, the others just ignored it for the sake of having fewer unanswered questions. 

At that point, you had kind of given up on your little adventure, but you pushed on to the very last door without much fanfare. When you twisted the knob and pushed, this time instead of being met with nothing, when it clicked open. Your eyes lit up in success, and you couldn’t help the little triumphant grin that crossed onto your face as you found somewhere to finally explore.

The room you went into was probably the dirtiest you’d seen yet, though the locked ones were probably in a worse state. There wasn’t that much furniture there to begin with, but what did occupy the space wasn't in good shape. A chair that had likely once been highly ornate and pristine had been flipped over, part of the upholstery ripped out, and one of the arms as well as a leg had been smashed so harshly into the ground that the floorboards had cracked slightly, and the carved wood splintered all over the floor. 

There was a vanity pushed up against the wall, small gashes on the table top, the mirror shattered with glass shards littering the area around it. In the reflective surface, you could see where it had been hit, the impact leaving a spider web of cracks.

The thing that caught your eye the most was the wardrobe, a milky sort of off white, rickety and aged, with its doors thrown open. Its contents spilled out onto the floor in a haphazard manner. 

It was trash. Like actual garbage. There were candy bar wrappers, empty soda cans and chip bags stacked on each other and crumpled in a careless fashion. You stooped down and gently picked up one of the bags, the plastic crinkling along the lines of your hands, and swallowed down the uneasiness as you realized that you recognized the brand. You remembered the label too. 

Taking a glance at all the other pieces of waste around the room only confirmed that these were all from your world, all varying from different years based on the graphic designs, except that they were all in the silver and gray shades that coated the realm. Had Samuel saved all of these? If so, how had he been getting them? He said himself that he didn’t leave anymore, and his lack of knowledge about current events and culture didn’t suggest otherwise. You set down the chip bag gently, choosing instead to inspect the vanity and its drawers. 

You expected to find more garbage in there, but surprisingly instead you found various old beauty products. A couple of powders, some eyeshadow, pots of eyeliners, rogue, and lipstick. None of them were pigmented, but if you squinted you could pretend that you saw some shades of color. A bit of scarlet red here, some bright coral there, all dull and shining against the pads of your fingers. You held them up close to your eyes to further inspect how they glimmered. 

“ What are you doing?”

You turned around quickly, eyes wide and heart beating wildly. You put your hand to your chest, letting out a relieved sigh at the sight of Samuel standing in the doorway with a hard to read expression.

“ You scared me,” you said, lungs heaving just a bit. He walked into the room, eyes cold as he took in the piles of trash. He chose to go directly up to you, gently taking the pot of blush out of your hands and setting it on the shattered vanity.

“ Don’t touch that. Who knows how long it’s been there,” he softly muttered. You held your breath. He stood so closely that you could feel his words ghosting on the shell of your ear, sliding down the crook of your neck, warm and melancholic. 

“ I was just exploring. This was the only door I could open,” you explained. You shifted slightly on the balls of your feet. The sullenness of his face was enough to tell you that you probably shouldn’t have been in here. It was kind of obvious that that might’ve been the case given the state of the whole building, but you didn’t expect the hurt present on his face. “ What is all of this?” You asked, gesturing to the pile of discarded wrappings. Samuel grimaced slightly. A sore subject it seemed.

“ You don’t, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you rushed out, but he only sighed and wiped his hand nervously on his face.

“No, no it’s alright. I can, I can tell you. Could we, perhaps, go somewhere else?”

His voice cracked slightly, like he was being burned alive with tears. You nodded without thinking, your hands still smeared with makeup, and led him by the wrist out of the dark building. 

His vision was downcast, but he kept up with your pace as the two of you padded towards the courtyard. You stepped down onto the grass before sitting down next to each other, his tall frame resting against the side of yours. Being there with him like that felt like being a part of a puzzle that had just been completed; It was just right.

“ You okay?” you asked. Samuel was blankly staring at the surface of the pond. The gentle wind rustled through the bushes and small trees. He shielded you from the chill.

“ I suppose,” he shrugged. “ That place is just… It holds a lot of awful memories for me.” 

You thought back to the wrecked appearance, how abandoned the building felt. It was like an old tomb, forbidden and desolate. Still its structure loomed on not too far from your little haven, threatening the peace silently. 

“ Objects come here from your world, you know. Things people have lost, things people have tossed aside. Sometimes when the moon is full, I’ll find them by the gate. And when I do, they’re always so colorful. And I know, they’re things that have been discarded. They’re dirty, but I have no color like that. So I keep them, I look at them until they become like me, and when they lose all their vibrancy, I put them in that building.” His voice rumbled softly, coursing through your skin, twisting your stomach into knots. He took a shaky gasp.

“ I- forgive me, I just can’t help it. Whenever I go there…”

“ It’s okay. You don’t have to explain it. I get it. I’m sorry for making you go there. I mean, all you have to say is you don’t want to be there. If it makes you feel bad, then I understand. That’s all I need to know. If it hurts you, that’s reason enough,” you offered in a quiet whisper. You could feel him nod against you, the edge of his fingers finding your palm. You let your hand slip into his, and you could feel him let it lay in his grasp before he tightened it like you were his last lifeline. 

As you sat there hesitantly enjoying his warmth, you wondered if the way the edges of your skin appeared in a shimmering gray was a trick of the dim lighting in a shattered mirror. 

Somehow, you had fallen into the pond in the courtyard. It was probably a symptom of you not properly gathering your balance before walking,  Samuel having just called you to eat moments before. It mirrored your arrival, save for actually crashing into the water instead of another world. 

You groaned as you wiped off the droplets clouding up your vision. Man, your clothes were soaked now. It wasn’t like you had anything else better to do, but you were lazy, so it was more annoying than anything. The chill of the water combined with the wind made you shudder as you climbed out of the pond, its surface sloshing around you noisily. 

“ [Name]?” Samuel called out from the kitchen. You could hear the clanking of plates. Ever since yesterday and your admittedly intimate conversation, he had been calling you by your name more freely. You had to guess it was part of the 1800’s manners that still lingered within him.

“ I’ll be there in a second!” You yelled back, stumbling as you did so. He must’ve heard the struggling in your voice because as soon as you spoke he was poking his head out from the doorway with a concerned expression. He took in your drowned rat appearance, his eyes growing wide.

“ [Name]! “ he cried out. He rushed over to your side, grabbing your arm and quickly pulling you out onto dry land. This was the least gentle he had been since you got here, panic clear in his demeanor. He practically dragged you over to the wooden halls, forcing you to sit down as he began to frantically look you over.

“ Are you hurt anywhere? Here?” he asked as he grabbed onto your leg, rolling up the leg of your pants to check your skin for any sign of bruising. You practically had to kick your way out of his tightened hold.

“ Hey! Hey! I’m fine! I just slipped! “ you protested, laughing a little weakly too. You placed your hands on his shoulders to try and calm him down a bit. Samuel frowned deeply, and you hesitated. Was he still feeling sensitive from yesterday? Probably. You let your touch linger. Your pinky played with one of his locs idly. You smiled at him as best you could, but you had to admit that you were freezing at that point. The cold air of the realm cut into your bones. You shivered, and the reaction did nothing to calm him down.

“ You’ll get sick,” he mumbled, watching the way the water dripped from your clothes onto his dark skin. 

“ I should be fine If I get dressed. Here, let me get up, I’ll go to my room.”

“ No, mine has a fireplace, You’ll be warmer in there,” he stood up, putting his arms under your armpits and hoisting you onto your feet. You cried out as you grabbed onto the front of his shirt in shock. He dragged you towards his room, threw the door open and had you sit down on one of the chairs. You cringed as you could feel the upholstery grow soggy underneath you.

Samuel was rifling through his wardrobe, pulling out sleep clothes and a few fluffy towels. He wordlessly crossed the expanse of his room towards you, and began to wrap the fabric around you, rubbing the sides of your arms. 

“ Here,” he said as he handed you a silken shirt and a pair of pants. You noticed how they were much larger than your own frame, much more befitting the man before you. 

“ Thanks,” you replied weakly. You patiently waited for him to leave the room, but he stood still, blankly staring at your hunched over self. You quirked a brow at him, gesturing for the door. Instead of leaving, Samuel turned his back to you and began to fuss with the fireplace and the basket of wood  sitting on the floor.

“ I won’t… I won’t look. Please, just tidy yourself,” he spoke in a wavering voice. You could see the way his Adam's apple bobbed. You were uneasy, but there was no reason really not to. So, you quickly shimmied out of your sopping outfit and changed into the clean one provided, all the while practically glaring at him to ensure that he was in fact keeping true to his word. You didn’t let him know that you had finished, choosing instead to simply watch him. Soon the silence was filled with the crackling of a fire. He sighed in relief when he stood up and realized that you had done as he asked.

He pulled off some of the pillows from his bed, the duvet, and grabbed some fluffy blankets from his wardrobe. The soft materials were placed down on the floorboards in front of the flames, arranged into a plush little area that looked insanely comfortable. 

“ Here, sit down. I’ll bring you some tea,” Samuel said as he placed his hands on your shoulders and gently pushed you down. 

“ Hey,” you spoke. He stopped in his tracks. You gestured for him to come back to your side, patting the ground next to you. He looked reluctant, fingers twitching and ready to head back to the kitchen. “ You don’t seem okay. Talk to me,” you said as earnestly as you could. You wanted to help him. There was a sort of pain on his face that you couldn’t stand. His fragility was even more pronounced than your own sorry state.

“ Nonsense, you’ll become ill. Some tea will properly warm you up,” he refuted, averting his gaze.

“ You’ve already set up the fire. Plus I promise if I start feeling bad, I’ll let you know. Okay? Just relax with me, please?” You could see the way he bit his lip, the way he still reached from the doorknob. You continued to look at him, pleading silently. You wanted to make him feel better. You didn’t know how since he was being rather mysterious in why he seemed so upset, but you could try. He huffed loudly, the sound escaping through his nose, and it was then you knew you had won.

So the two of you sat in front of the fire, watching the silver inferno dance, spreading light through over the expanse of your form. Samuel had wrapped a blanket over your shoulders, his way of feeling better about the whole situation. He was rigid as a board, stiff and posture straight. You, on the other hand, settled down to lay on your side, tired of sitting criss crossed. When your face pressed against the plush duvet he had put down, you could feel the tips of his fingers lightly trailing on the nape of your neck. You shuddered slightly, for his touch was cold.

“ What’s got you so freaked out?” you mumbled sleepily. He hummed in response.

“ Nothing really. I’m just concerned for your well-being.”

“ Well, I’ll be fine. You’ve done plenty for me already,” you said lazily, blinking slowly. You wanted to say more, you really did, but you were so tired. The fire was so warm, the pile of pillows so comforting that you could barely fight against the lull of sleep. You found yourself falling asleep quickly.

“ I know… It’s just, you’re so fragile,” he sighed, resting his hand on the crown of your head, cradling it even. Still, you could only laugh in drowsy amusement. He looked at you as if you were crazy, but you couldn’t help the smile playing on your lips.

“ If anything, you’re much more fragile than me, old man,” you said with a yawn before slipping away into complete slumber.

Samuel was much calmer the next few days when he realized that you weren’t on death’s door, but he had been pretty insistent that you stay in his room and not go wandering around the complex as you usually would. You were rightfully annoyed by this, but he was, to no surprise, incredibly stubborn when it came to such matters. The two of you had your first dispute since you had been there over it even, and you had eventually given in once the look of hurt on his face grew too great to ignore. 

He brought you books from the library and meals fresh from the kitchen. You had suggested that you eat in the courtyard like usual, but he had shot that down quickly. Something about it being too cold out there. Instead, he had dragged another table into his bedroom so that you could spend time in there. He hardly left your side for those three days, and when you asked about going back to your own room, he had refused on the grounds that there was no fireplace there. Deep down, you knew that you were probably indulging him too much, so you said that after today, the third day you had been holed up in there, you would go back to wandering around as you pleased.

“ Fine, as you wish,” he gritted out, obviously not happy about it, before turning heel and stalking out to do who knows what. You were left there alone for the first time in what felt like forever, and you sighed with relief. Sliding off his bed, you ban to wander around his space to kill time. You appreciated what he was trying to do, you really did, but you were getting tired of being cooped up here. Plus the utter boredom you were starting to feel was getting on your nerves. You figured that Samuel would be less paranoid about your health once he saw that you were perfectly fine, uninjured, and unriddled with all kinds of ailments. You had tried to give him a bit of grace, but you were running out of patience to keep relenting. 

You were tidying things up a little, just to keep yourself busy. You folded up blankets, pushed in chairs, stacked up some of the books you had gone through. Part of you hoped that it would serve as a peace offering to your friend, making his worries fade if only by a small amount. Eventually you waltzed over to his vanity, arranging the various knickknacks on top of it so they weren’t just strewn about. There were bottles of perfume and powders, some not too unsimilar to the ones you found in the dark, dusty building. You did so mindlessly, until you really focused on the object you had touched. The smooth texture was familiar to you almost immediately, and your eyes widened as you looked down at the music box, the one you had found by the pond. 

You blinked at its appearance, once pastel and gold, colored into a silver, platinum and shimmering version of itself. You dropped it in surprise, the notes within it making a loud clang. Your hands which had held it were in the same color scheme as the entire room.

You gasped nervously as you turned them over, your vibrant skin fading into a much duller color. 

“What?” you whispered shakily. Your mind instantly went to the room full of garbage, the ones from your own world. They were gray, just like the music box, just like the world, just like Samuel, and now just like your fingers. You thought of the trash and why he had chosen to keep it. It would be so easy to chuck them out the moon gate, but instead they were collected there in that building. You swallowed thickly, remembering something that he first said to you.

“ I’m not even sure I can tell you what I was doing before I became part of this place.” 

Samuel said it himself, he used to be like you. Now, though, he couldn’t leave, and everything that ended up in the same coloring got trapped here as well. Were you… were you becoming a part of this world too? 

That night you had returned to your room, and Samuel had reluctantly kept to his word. You were itching to ask him about what was happening to you, but you wanted to keep silent for now and see if anything was off about his demeanor. Yes, he had explained that eventually things lost their color to the gray, but he hadn’t elaborated on how long it took. But it had been around twelve days now, and the music box you had entered with had already turned completely.

When you had gotten dressed this morning, slipping on your socks and shoes, you noticed that your feet had lost their original shade. You were extremely unnerved by this, and when you looked in your vanity mirror, it appeared that your cheeks had been dusted with a silver flush. 

It occurred to you that the fire that he had constantly going while you were in his room had likely masked the fact that you had suddenly started to change in shade, you chalking it up to the lighting. Maybe that was why he hadn’t said anything. 

Regardless, you went to check on the moon gate. You were starting to become anxious to go home. It had been over a week since you had initially wandered out, and you couldn’t help but think of the panic your disappearance must’ve made with not only your family but your friends. How would they feel knowing that you went missing on the way to hang out with them? You sighed, melancholy and longing filling your lungs as you looked out at the only thing that could grant you your exit. 

The gate itself had faded from a half full moon to a waxing crescent. The sliver of light shining upon its surface would likely disappear into complete darkness in a matter of a few days. You were nervous, to say the least. If whatever was happening to you completed before the gate fully opened again, you were never going to go home again. 

“ Samuel, how long did it take for you to, you know, lose all your color?” You hated how blunt you sounded, but you had to know. You were sitting in the library today, cozied up in two plush chairs across from each other. You had been trying to focus on a book you had picked up, but your grayed out hands made it hard to concentrate. He was humming, a small smile on his face, while writing his poetry. 

Your question broke him out of his happy state, him quickly snapping into a worried expression. When he didn’t say anything, you rolled up your sleeve to reveal your problem, fading up your forearm. Over the past three days, you had tried to act as normal as you could, shoving down your concerns in favor of returning to the casual atmosphere you had built before you had wandered into the building with all the trash, but it was harder than you thought it would be. 

“ I’ve been, uh, experiencing this for the past few days, and well, I’m nervous that it’ll spread more before it's my time to leave,” you said awkwardly. Samuel stood up from his chair wordlessly and grabbed onto your wrist, his fingers rubbing over your skin in a soothing and curious manner. 

“ You’re becoming like me,” he said plainly. 

“ Yeah, uh I guess I am. I’ve been meaning to ask you about it, but yeah. Is, uh, is there anything I can do to slow it down? Or make sure that it won’t take over completely before the full moon?”  He winced at your mention of leaving, sadness pooling in his eyes.

“ There’s nothing that can prevent this place from claiming you. You must leave before then, but you should be fine by the time the gate reopens,” he explained dully. “ Would it, would it really be so terrible if you were to stay here with me, though?” You looked up at him, your face completely splattered with shock. You choked out a surprised laugh, like he was making a cruel joke.

“ What? You know I can’t do that Samuel. I have a life that I have to get back to,” You rejected the idea immediately, gently trying to tug your arms out of his grasp. He bit his lip as his chest began to rise and fall more rapidly.

“ I understand. However, you, I believe that if you would just stay,  we could have a life here. One that is just as wonderful as your life on Earth. I know that I’m asking you to give a lot here, but I just, [Name] I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m alone again,” he gasped out his words, squeezing down on your limbs without realizing. A few tears, bright like dying stars, began to slip down his cheeks, falling down and splashing your own frantic hands. Your own heart felt as if it were being slammed against your ribcage, guilt and sorrow bubbling up. 

In the brief period that you had come to know him, you had started to become fond of Samuel. It was a fast forming bond, driven by both of your respective degrees of isolation, and you couldn’t deny the attraction that you felt every time he shyly smiled your way. But this wasn’t some fast forming crush. This was a man asking you to throw your everything away for him, for eternal youth, for eternal nothingness. This wasn’t him asking you to become a trusted friend or even a lover, he was asking you to be his whole world. You wondered if he was only offering to become yours because that was the only thing he had to give. 

“ I’m really sorry, but I have to go home,” you said as resolutely as you could, but you couldn’t help the small cracks in your voice creeping in. Your refusal devastated the man, and he let out a few sobs and sank to his knees, placed his head in your lap, and softly cried into you for what felt like hours. All the while he quietly mumbled his pleas for you to reconsider, for you to stay, to witness all he could promise you.

When you didn’t do anything other than caress his head in an effort to calm him, he shambled up to his feet, wiped off his tears with his sleeves, weakly said goodbye, and turned to leave the room. You sat there for a while, staring at the emptiness that flowed in after him, and you thought of how everyday must’ve been like this for him. There was nothing but regret and anxiety of whether or not the right decision had been made everyday for decades upon decades. You felt bad, you truly did, because it was a miserable existence frankly, and part of you worried that if you did stay, you would eventually succumb to that crippling loneliness even with Samuel with you. That you would lose your color, and you would become like the garbage holed up in that room.

The next day, when you cautiously ambled out of your bedroom, you were immediately hit with the scent of flowers. The entire hall was filled with vases and pots containing all kinds of floral arrangements and species. All shimmering and gray, but beautiful nonetheless. 

“ You could have this everyday if you wanted,” his voice startled you, and you jumped when you realized that he was practically leaning over you. You had been too distracted by the plants to notice him emerging from his room, and you assumed that he had been listening for when you would emerge from your own. 

“ Samuel… Please,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “ I understand your feelings, but you gotta also get that I need to go home. I made that clear yesterday,” you pleaded with him as you brushed by his figure, stalking off to make a meal for yourself. He followed suit, hardly a step behind you.

You went through the curtain and began to pull out various pans and utensils, trying to figure out exactly what it was you wanted to make in the first place when he came in and took a spatula that was in your hand. You protested weakly, trying to grab it back, but he pushed you to sit at the table as you normally would. You crossed your arms, quirking a brow at him in clear annoyance.

“ Uh, what do you think you’re doing?”

“ I’m making you breakfast. I know you wanted to split the meal making duties, but I can take over from now on,” he explained, moving to pull out ingredients from the fridge. “ You won’t ever have to lift a finger again. If you stay, that is.”

You ate breakfast with him, because what else was there to do, with a very strange atmosphere. The man kept asking if the food was good, if you were comfortable, asking if you wanted to go to his room where he knows you would be comfortable if you would just let him take you there. His confession, as vague as it was, and your rejection had dialed up his clinginess to the max.

“ I’m going to the drawing room,” you said after dumping a clean plate on a drying rack. Samuel was hovering over you, leaving you slightly pinned to the counter you were working on. You slid past him as best you could, but an arm shot out to prevent you from going any further.

“ I think you should stay here, in the courtyard with me.”

“ I’ll be fine by myself. I need a bit of space right now,” you shrugged him off, trying to ignore the way his face lit up in momentary anger, something that you hadn’t really seen before on his sweet appearance. He ignored your request to be left alone, by the way. He followed you to the drawing room, remarking about how lovely the complex was, how it could be more beautiful if the two of you just cleaned all of the empty rooms. How if you stayed that would be a real possibility. 

You sat there silently, trying to ignore him as best as you could. You were doodling again, and this time instead of sitting himself opposite of you, Samuel decided to cozy up beside you, resting his chin on your shoulder and watching with mild interest as you sketched. His breath was warm on your skin, but you stayed quiet. You hated how flustered he made you feel even now when you were clearly frustrated by his clinginess. Part of it was because you truly couldn’t be fully mad at him. He was lonely, desperate for the first bit of human contact in who knows how long to stay with him, and you couldn’t really fault him for being so devastated by your exit from his life. 

If there was a way where he could come back with you, you were sure that you would have thrown caution to the wind and explored your growing crush on the handsome man. You wished things had been different; that he was just a boy you had known and quickly grown close to on campus or somewhere around your town. 

“ You’re quite good at that,” he said. You called bullshit; Your art was a mess of ink splotches and squiggly lines that you cobbled together to resemble the flowers and the hallways that surrounded you. You hardly put any effort into it, and anyone would be a fool to say it was anything more than a way to pass the time.

“ I can do portraits, you know. If you would sit down, I could draw up the two of us. There are some oil paints around here somewhere, so I could paint it as well,” he offered, his arms slowly moving to wrap you in an embrace. You shrugged him off with a bit of reluctance.  His touch was comforting, but you had to create a fine line between the two of you. Leaving would be harder otherwise. 

“ I’m alright,” you responded curtly. You could feel his lips against your skin form into a frown, and he brought up a hand to turn you head. You startled a bit, but his eyes bore into yours with a frightening amount of intensity. A cold fear settled into your stomach.

“ Please,” was all he said, and all you could do was meekly nod.

Samuel had you sit down in a room with a large amount of windows to paint your portrait. He had given you an outfit that was far more ornate than anything you had worn in the previous week and a half and sat you down on a plush, comfortable chair. He had surrounded you with flowers, petals sitting at your feet and scattered across your lap. Satin, ribbons hung from your wrists, neck, and ankles. He had tied them after you had been dressed, a small, fond smile settling on the lines of his face as he held onto your limbs gently. 

“ You look absolutely lovely,” he said, content as he moved in front of the canvas. 

“ Uh thanks I guess.”

“ Have you ever had your portrait taken?” he asked, holding up a brush between poised fingers. 

“ Not really. I mean I’ve had my picture taken at school,” you shrugged. You wished he would stop staring at you, dissecting you with his fluttering eyelashes. Your skin had continued to gray at an alarming rate, and you could not ignore the panic that had gripped you. You were trying to trust what he had said about you not turning completely before the full moon came, but it was hard to just brush off the sudden way your appearance was changing. 

You had checked the moon gate the night before, passing by it under the pretense of going to the library. You weren’t sure why, but you no longer felt comfortable simply telling Samuel about your true intentions anymore. Before he had asked you to stay the first time, you would simply inform him of where you would be. Sure, he would likely show up to stick by your side before long, but he hadn’t actively stopped you from going anywhere until then. But yesterday with his insistence that you stay with him in the courtyard and his tailing you all through the complex was the beginning of a new pattern that you were certain that you didn’t like.

When you had first woken up this morning, he was sitting outside of your door in the hall. It wasn’t unusual before, but now it felt like a calculated step he took to make sure that every second of your day was spent with him. It was then that he had given you a silken shirt and pair of pants and pulled you into a room with windows that went all the way to the ceiling.

But the moon gate, it had passed from the new moon into the sliver of a crescent. It wouldn’t be long before you could go home. You had to keep reassuring yourself of that. Maybe twelve days or so more? Six until the half moon appeared again for sure. You sighed, trying to focus on anything other than his gaze.

“ Picture? Ah, I recall that being a new thing before I came here. Is it more common in your time?” he asked. 

“ Yeah, uh I’d say they are. Like super common actually. I wish I had brought my phone with me. I think you would have, uh, I think you would’ve enjoyed seeing all the stuff on there,” you laughed weakly. He hummed in response. The room was filled with the sound of paint being rubbed onto canvas. His eyes flitted between the you he was creating and your own fidgeting figure. You wondered if he was having trouble with you not being completely still. After a few moments of him being focused on his task, you let your mind wander. It must’ve gone a bit too far, though, because soon you found yourself voicing a question that you had been holding since a few days in.

“ Hey, if we hadn’t met here, like if we met back on Earth and all, would you have liked me?” Samuel froze, his small smile halting into one of shock. He tore away from his art and fully faced you, truly taking in your petulant expression and pinched brows.

“ Of course,” he said without hesitation, and you sighed.

“ But like, why? I mean, can you really say that if you had met me without being here by yourself for so long, you would be like this with me?” you asked. He stared blankly. He hadn’t tried to think about it. It was plain to see from his silent floundering. Part of you knew that he didn’t really want to answer your question, for anything he said would probably be untrue to some extent. Deep down he knew the way he clung to you wasn’t natural. Deep down he knew that if you hadn’t met under such circumstances, he probably wouldn’t feel as desperate or deeply about you. If he thought otherwise, he would be lying. He had to because to some extent you felt the same way. 

“ Does it matter?”

“ What do you mean?”

“ I don’t think it really matters. We didn’t meet on Earth because we weren’t supposed to. You came to me now, here. There’s a reason for that, you know. I haven’t felt much of anything lately, yet you, you came here. You’re with me now. I know you don’t wish to stay, but you have to agree that this is fate. That’s all I need to be certain of my affections for you,” Samuel looked at you with such fondness, and you couldn’t help but ache. You wanted to believe him so badly that it hurt, that this was meant to be, that you were meant to stay. He walked over to you, his hands reaching up to cradle your face like you were made out of porcelain, his finger pushing down on your lower lip. 

He leaned in for a kiss no doubt, but you turned quickly, your figure curling up on itself in discomfort. He kissed your jaw gently, trying to make his way towards your mouth, but you pushed gently on his chest while quietly saying “no”.  He reared back before homing in close once again, chasing after your affection. Still, you screwed your eyes shut and stood from your seat, breaking away from his touch.

“ [Name] please-”

“ Samuel, You have to stop. This is going nowhere. I care about you, really, and I, I also like you in that way, but it’s just not going to happen. I have to go home, and that’s it,” it hurt to say those words. You wanted fate, you wanted a person that you were destined to be with, but it couldn’t be like this. You had tried so hard to leave your shell, to go out and enjoy life while making friends and experiencing everything to falling in love to the joyful chaos of university. You needed that too, and you couldn’t get it if you stayed here. 

“ No, no, you’re not understanding me. I need you here, please. I can’t be alone again!” He cried, chasing after you as you began to exit the room. As you stalked off, fighting tears along the way, you began to undo the ribbons that he had tied to your wrists, discarding them in the ground in your wake. He scrambled to pick them up, calling your name.

“ [Name] [Name] [Name] “

You shoved your hands over your ears in a desperate attempt to drown out his increasingly panicked voice. You were practically running down the hallways, racing to reach your room. Your feet thudded against the creaking floorboards, his even louder ones following suit.

“ I’m sorry!” You shouted, your throat hoarse with fear and sadness. You slid in front of your doorway, quickly heading inside before shutting and locking it behind you. You could hear Samuel’s body slam into it, his fists pounding against it.

“ [Name]! Please let me in! I didn’t wish to frighten you! Just let me make it up to you! Please I swear I wasn’t attempting to force you. I just, I simply wanted you to understand my feelings,” he begged, his breathing rapid. 

“ Go away,” you said loudly, backing away slightly. He kept on hitting the door, the handle jiggling with his attempts to get in. 

“ [Name] open the door please. Please, I can make you understand.”

“ Go away!” you repeated, a bit more loudly this time. Your heart was pounding in your chest. He didn’t stop though. In fact his actions only became more frantic, and you could see the way the door began to shake with every slam he made against it, the wood shaking against his hinges.

You had begun crying, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sank to the floor, curling into yourself as you sobbed out. He must’ve heard you crying because he was practically trying to break his way into your room.

“ [Name]! Let me in! Please! Just give me a chance! I love you! PLEASE!,” he frantically called as the banging continued. 

SLAM

“ Let me in!”

SLAM

“[NAME]! PLEASE!” He was sobbing too.

SLAM

“ I LOVE YOU! LET ME IN!”

“ GO AWAY!” you screamed, louder than you think you had ever screamed in your entire life. Your body shook as you cried into your knees, and you felt like you were going to throw up, but the terror outside your room had stopped suddenly. 

The quiet was unnerving, and it lasted for a while. You sniffled as the minutes ticked by, trembling as you looked at his shadow coming in from under your door. He was just sitting there, waiting for you to say something, to come out, to fall into his arms and allow yourself to be swept up by the dream-like romance that you knew we wanted to sweep you up in. But you stayed still out of pure fear of what he would do to you once you left the room. You could hear his slightly ragged breaths, waiting to have you in his hold once more.

“ If you wish to stay in there,” he said after a long period of no words passing between you,” It’s okay. I’ll be here for you, and you’ll understand how I feel then.” His words were ominous, and they sent shivers down your spine. 

You couldn’t really believe that this was the sweet and gentle man you had come to know over the past couple two weeks, but then again that was hardly enough time to truly know someone. You felt stupid, being swept up in the way he treated you, in how beautiful this place was and how sweetly he spoke your name. You wanted to make it work. You wanted to believe that this was just a weird dream that was going on for too long. Oddly, part of you still felt guilty over not being able to give yourself to someone who was so lonely, someone who yearned that deeply for connection. You could be that missing piece to make his life whole, but you’d be sacrificing yours in the process. You couldn’t, it was as plain as that, and yet you still wanted to make him happy.

The Samuel that you had started to like, the one who looked at you like you were everything, was not truly real though. The real him was partly that, but he was also desperate and wild to a degree that frightened you greatly. You couldn’t live like that, not after how he reacted. So even if there were still some feelings for him there, there was no way you could let them get in the way of you going home.

He had sat right up against your door for the entire night, and you had fearfully allowed yourself to slip into a fitful sleep pressed up against the wall in your bed. In the morning, you awoke to him knocking.

“ I told you, you would never have to lift a finger again. I made you breakfast. If you open the door it’s here for you,” he chuckled slightly. You didn’t fail to notice the unstableness in his voice as you clutched your blanket closer to yourself. 

“I’ll, I’ll go to my room, just make sure that you eat something. I don’t want you to starve,” he sighed after you didn’t answer. You could hear the clanging of silverware and plates being set down before the tell tale creaks of the floor board gave way to his location. Indeed, he had stepped away, but that didn’t mean you could afford to be flippant about the matter. You approached the exit to your room slowly, unlocking it with a soft click before you opened it in a hurry and snatched up the meal. You locked it back in place almost immediately after, staying alert in case Samuel decided to come running for you. To your relief, he stayed put.

You swallowed down the food as best as you could, but you couldn’t finish most of it. You decided that you would leave the plate on your vanity for later as the more you could avoid having to leave your room, the better. You caught a glance at your appearance in the mirror, and you were alarmed to see that the silver had spread up pretty much all the way to your biceps. It was taking over you quickly. You shakily sighed as you tried to stave off the rest of the time by reading some books that you had left in there from the previous few days. 

Samuel tried to coax you out with lunch a couple hours later, but since you had your plate, you stayed inside and ignored it.

“[Name], please… You’re not taking care of yourself. If you would let me in, I could help you,” he said, but again you stayed quiet. He was a bit more stable than the night prior, though, so instead of screaming at you to come out, he began to read off some poetry that he had been writing. You assumed that it was all from the period after your arrival, recalling how he would be jotting down imagery with a serene expression while you lazed about. You missed how it had been, even if it hadn’t been all too long ago. 

Eventually, his voice grew hoarse from speaking to no one for hours, and you heard him dejectedly bidding you goodnight, once again leaving you with silence.

The next day carried out much the same, and you found yourself growing increasingly paranoid. You didn’t want to stay in your room the entire time. Your books had been read and the gate needed to be checked on, but you were certain that if you stepped out of your safe haven, Samuel would be there ready to do who knows what.

That day, he had spent many hours telling you of how he envisioned a life with you to be, and you became increasingly aware of the notion that he might be planning to prevent you from leaving the realm all together. 

“ We shall sit here and discuss everything and nothing,” he laughed to himself.” Why, we’d be like those scholars in the library! Perhaps you and I could write books together. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” 

As much as his words disturbed you, it did give you an idea. After he retired to bed, you devised a slight plan to visit the library once more. Perhaps there was something there that could offer you an answer about what this place was and maybe even how to slow down its claim over you. So that night, you opened your window carefully and climbed out to land on the barren expanse of silver ground that surrounded the complex. 

The floorboards in the hall would give away your activity in no time, but if you sneaked in through the outside ground, then you could slip into the library undetected. There hadn’t really been any reason to leave the carefully maintained halls until now, but now you were offered a more covert way to traverse through the buildings. 

You quietly skirted on the edges of the property until you gently climbed up onto the wooden pathway. Hopefully you were far enough away from the bedrooms that the slight creaking wouldn’t be too much of a give away. It seemed that you were correct in this assessment, for you were able to rifle through books in the library undisturbed for the first time in what felt like a long while. You were a bit desperate in combing through the knowledge available, though you were careful to put everything back in its place lest Samuel figure out that you had managed to sneak in without him seeing. 

You pulled out journals about the phases of the moon, star maps, novels that looked as if they had been read by him on multiple occasions. You found nothing of use. Frustrated, tired, and scared beyond imagination, you gripped your head in your hands. You surveyed the place, eyes roaming over the shelves upon shelves of information until a slight glint caught your eye. It was something shining between two heavy books, the light from outside hitting it perfectly. You would’ve never really seen it if you hadn’t been scrutinizing the room so intensely, and you quickly made your way over to whatever was shimmering so brightly. It was really just a sliver of reflection, hardly noticeable, but when you inspected it further you found a key, metal and shiny despite a small amount of grime covering it. 

 You turned the object over in your palm curiously and quickly placed it within your pocket. Something told you that whatever answers you sought were somehow connected to this simple piece of metal.

With that you quickly scurried off to your room once more.

“ I know you’d be sacrificing a lot,” Samuel said to you on the third day of locking yourself in your room. The gate had opened up a considerable amount since he had exploded in anguish, and you could tell that he was trying even more desperately to get you to stay of your own volition.

“ You have friends and a family…But I could be both of those for you. You would be the same for me. We could be each other's everything, you know. If you would just give me a chance to prove how wonderful we’d be, I’d make it worth your time.” You could hear the gentle movement of pen over paper, of a broom sweeping down the hall, of his breaths. He would spend his whole time there, luring you with honeyed promises of a romantic and satisfied life, but his frightening behavior made you sure that your days here would be anything but that. If he had you, he would never let you go. This realm was much the same. 

With that terrifying fact in mind, you knew that you had to figure out where the key led into. Its neglected state told you it had to be a place that Samuel hadn’t bothered with for a long time, and there was really only one place that fit that desolate description. While he waxed on about how good he would be to you, how he would worship you if you truly wished, you  thought of that hallway filled with locked doors. Considering how long he had been here, there might be some things of some long gone era including the remnants of a stable Samuel.

Later that night, when you snuck out again, you stared out over the vast silver nothingness. If you weren’t so terrified that there wasn’t anything but the complex, you would have taken off running into it. Your window, which was very high up by the way, looked down on your shifty form.  

The old building loomed in all its dim glory like a beacon in a sea of darkness, and you approached with much caution. The key in your silver palm sat heavy with years of unknown history. The stars watched from above as you gripped onto the wooden railing that decorated the edges of the halls. The carved wooden leaves and flora pressed into your skin, leaving indents in their image. Like many times before, the floor creaked with each step you took. Here, you were less worried about Samuel hearing you as it was so removed from everything else. Here, you could breathe a little more. Your silk shirt didn’t feel as stifling, and you shook a little less. 

You yanked on the handles of the doors, shocked to find that they didn’t budge. Shit, he must’ve locked it at some point. You sighed, part out of anger and part out of fear, and stepped back. If you couldn’t get in the normal way, then some alternative methods were needed. 

So, that’s how you ended up crawling through the window at the back of the building. It was an awkward action, your stomach pressing uncomfortably onto the ledge. You hung there for a moment, trying to shimmy inside before you fell ungracefully onto the floor with a large thud. You froze there as a few moments passed by. Part of you was waiting for Samuel to come storming into the building, for him to unleash a torrent of tears and desperation upon you. Silence passed. There was no thundering pace, and no calling of your name from a man starved of stability. You placed a hand to your chest, gasping in relief and at your aching muscles. 

There wasn’t much time, not much that you were comfortable spending out here from the safety of your room, that is, to properly look through every room in here for a clue on your condition and how to leave. You glanced at the door not too far from you, slightly ajar from your last visit to this place. If that one held things that were more contemporary, then wouldn't it be safe to assume that the ones closest to the main entrance were the oldest?

You shakily stood on your feet while using the wall as your guide. You pulled out the key as you picked the nearest one to the front of the building You slotted in the key, and much to your relief, the door swung open with an ancient sounding creak. The smell of age immediately hit your nose, and your face wrinkled in disgust. This place had not been touched in a while. Unlike the one you had seen a week ago, the room looked as if it had been left as was. The furniture seemed to be in their proper places, and there weren’t random objects strewn about. The only things that could make it messy was the amount of dust coating over every surface and the odd few stacks of books on the floor.  

You quickly walked over to the vanity, rifling through the drawers. There was makeup. Hairpins, brushes, some old pots of congealed ink, but nothing of much note. You threw open the wardrobe to find some fraying clothes that looked nothing like the ones either you or Samuel wore. You gently pinched the sleeve of the faded shirt, the old cotton rolling limply between your fingers. How long ago had he slipped these on? Since he had gone around wandering the world as he wished? You couldn’t imagine the outfit you wore when you came here being sealed away like this.

You frowned deeply. The memories these pieces of old cloth must’ve held…It made you truly wonder what he had given up to be a part of this place. You dropped it and continued to look on for what else was in the wardrobe. There was a box holding a well worn pair of leather shoes, some gloves, and a crumpled up jacket that sat dejectedly in a pile. You rifled through them with haste, frantically looking through them. Within the pocket of the jacket, you felt the fragile texture of aged paper, and you quickly pulled it out.

Underneath the silver moonlight, you could see faded ink looping in their delicate chain, spelling out a sweet Dear Samuel.

I hope this finds you well…

It was hard to make out any of the words on the rest of the page. You furrowed your brows as you tried to piece together prose that had long since lost meaning. There were parts where the parchment had wavered under what you had assumed to be tears, places where it had been crumpled by how tightly it had been gripped, soft and limp from how many times it had been folded. It was well loved, and now, judging by its resting place, it had been forgotten. 

There was nothing to learn from it, much to your frustration. You sighed shakily as you carefully folded up the old letter and tucked it away again. You pressed your face to your palms and let out a low groan. There had to be something that could help you, you were sure of that, but whatever it was had been hidden away. Either that or it was just in a different room. 

So you went to the second door by the entrance. It was much like the one you had just been in before, except this one had a more noticeable air of clutter. There were books everywhere, strewn about in haphazard manner with pages falling out of bindings and ink splashed out across the floorboards. On the desk pressed against the wall was a worn journal, the paper in it bulging out from use.

It was by itself, illuminated by the light from the window, with little else sharing its space. You rushed over to it, before flipping over to a random page.

Today has been an eventful day. Father says that soon Mother, Charlotte, and I shall depart for the city soon. He says that there is work to be found there, and that my brother has found us occupation and housing. It must be quite nice to be familiar with the lively atmosphere. I hold little doubt that such a large number of individuals will suit my character in an unfavorable manner, yet I find that there is little I can do to protest such a sudden decision. Mother is elated for me to finally join brother and father, sister is excited to go to school in a more fashionable location, and my father is simply content to provide. By all means this is an opportunity that I am certain some would be green for, and yet I feel a sense of unease.

For if I leave this town, what will become of this place?

You visibly recoiled from the information. You knew that he had a life before this. It had been mentioned and hinted at many times before this moment, but to actually have it confirmed? It was unsettling. You nervously shut the journal, the leather and paper making a soft thud, and quickly left the room. From there you left the same way you came in, the rusty key and book tucked safely in your arms.

The next day , you sat on the floor of your room hunched over the little book. Samuel scratched at the door now; his fingernails swooping as he spoke weakly.

“ I understand, you know. I do, I really do, but I simply think you’re being unreasonable now. It’s been days since you’ve come out. I miss you [Name], and I know you miss me too,” he drawled. You could hear the exhaustion in his voice, and you could practically picture the way dark lines would hang heavily in his otherwise perfect visage. You hoped that his appearance had become akin to that of his words: sick and uncanny.

You pressed your fingers into your temple in an attempt to drown him out. Your brows were furrowed in concentration, trying desperately to focus and make out the looping cursive on the page. You sighed in frustration. You really should’ve paid more attention in classes.

As the move to the city approaches, I find myself increasingly conflicted. There is little reason as to why I should be so opposed, yet I am inextricably reluctant to go. I sit in this pavilion unknown to my family in contemplation, for I have become convinced that this solitude is more befitting of my character. I would have accommodation, food, entertainment, everything an individual would need to live a life of fulfillment and esteem. Additionally, I would achieve every son’s greatest dream: removing the burden of oneself from their parents.

I should consider taking this place as my permanent residence.

It felt wrong reading this. The only thing you could compare it to was watching back footage of a car crash before the collision actually happened. Your silence was a palpable response, and you could feel his unease oozing from into the small gap under your door. 

“ [Name], I hope you know that you still have a few days to change your mind. I’ll be here for you, throughout the whole process and everything. I know it can be frightening, but when you become like me, I’ll treat you so well that you won’t even know why you resisted me,” he laughed lowly, and you seized with fear. Your chest heaved slowly as you hung on the action of flipping a page. 

“ Please just… please just leave me alone,” you said tiredly. His weight shifted under the floorboards, the wood creaking, and he pressed his palms up against the wall outside. You could hear it, no, you could practically feel his eyes wildly searching for signs of you. His breathing was heavy, unhinged, and absolutely terrifying. You winced back from the entrance to your room. There was no telling what he would do to get in, and you had a sneaking suspicion that the door was only a decorative obstacle for him. There was no way he wasn’t desperate enough to not have tried breaking in, and that scared you so much. 

He was so sure of himself, and you did not miss the certainty in his words. When you become like him. When he would comfort you. There was no ‘If’ anymore, no attempt to conceal his certainty. Did he think that he could physically stop you from leaving? When the gate opened, he would probably do everything in his power to stop you from going. 

“ [Name]”

You ignored him in favor of digging further into his past life. He wasn’t satisfied, though. You could feel the way his shoulders heaved in your bones, how he bored his gaze onto silver wood, the way his tongue rolled with your name like a curse. 

He was quiet after that, and you watched as the shadows underneath your door shifted back. Your stomach churned in discomfort, the acid burning and warm as it crawled up your throat ever so slightly. There was no way that you could do this everyday; no way that you could sit there as he hovered around desperately for the rest of your life, or the rest of whatever it was you’d be leading if you did stay.

I have never been humiliated in such a manner as I have in this moment. I confessed my feelings of our departure to the city, how little it appealed to me and all, to my father. I’ve never seen him so cross, so cold towards me. I have always held suspicion that my family did not hold a level of affection towards me as they did to each other, but it seems that I have had to reach this unfortunate conclusion. 

He called me a drain on the fortune he had worked so hard to come across. I know that I write this in a calmer state of mind, but it took everything within me to not burst into tears right then and there. I’m in the pavilion again, and I believe that I should spend the night here. I’ve never done so before, despite all the time I do lay around in these halls. 

He’d never spent the night before? Your face twisted into confusion. That can’t… That didn’t make any sense. Did the gate function differently when he first arrived?

“[Name]...You can’t stay in there forever. If you would just speak to me, I could make this right. I promise,” Samuel mumbled out. You flipped to another page. Another day. Another tainted memory of his.

It’s been a week. I haven’t the heart to return. I suppose that my family has likely departed to the city without me being there. I wish them well, truly, and I hope they feel my support from this place. 

Perhaps I am a coward, for I cannot find the courage to go beyond here and truly apologize nor tell them that my well being is secure. I instead choose to sit around and lament. Truly my self hatred knows no bounds. Part of me imagines that my family shall scorn me for my behavior, the other thinks that they would be indifferent. They’ve never cared to know where I have gone off and disappeared before now, and I don’t believe that they’ll suddenly give a damn. 

The bitterness was palpable, and you winced as you read. The Samuel in the ink was far more antisocial than you would have ever assumed him to be; It was jarring with the way his honey dipped words tried to sway you from outside your safe spot. You swallowed thickly as you tried to imagine him with a cold and disdainful look when you came here. Had he wallowed in this awful self hatred for all this time? There was another series of soft taps on the door, ones that you vaguely recognized being that of the music box on your vanity. 

“ I promise that everyday will always be interesting. That you’ll never be bored, or suffer from loneliness. It’ll be the two of us, and I swear that I’ll make you happy. Please, won’t you please just let me see your face,” he paused, waiting for you to say something (as if there was any chance in hell that you would do that again). “ I just want to see you, see if you’ve become even more like this place and me. You can confide in me, you know.”

Had you grown more silver? The panic of the past few days had deterred you from really caring about your appearance, so the mirror in your room didn’t seem to hold much purpose. Not to mention, you were so fucking scared of what was happening to you. You could already see that the shimmering greyscale had already coated your calves and your fingers entirely, but there were large expanses of your skin that had been covered by clothing.

You slowly stood so as to not make too much noise, and carefully peered into the reflective surface that sat pressed up against the wall. You gingerly brought your hands up to your face as you stared with a mix of dismay and awe. The color had covered half of your features at this point, your eyes maintaining their color. In the meantime your hair had turned a mix of gray and silver from the ends up until just before your roots like a dye job that looked a few months overdue for a retouch. Your breath caught in your throat as you inhaled sharply. It had spread so quickly over these past couple of days…Why? Why had it done that? Was it going to completely take over you before the gate opened? No, because otherwise Samuel would’ve said something. He would’ve noted how this place took hold of him before he could go home, because he said he went home in that journal. Right?

You practically threw yourself to the floor, not caring anymore if he heard you. The Journal had to have some answers. You opened it to a random spot, eyes frantically roaming over the dates and times. The one to which you settled on seemed to be two weeks away from the last one you read. 

My clothes that I wore when I came here have faded completely into this wonderful silver color, and my skin seems to have begun doing the same. I am intrigued by this greatly, and I am interested in how it should progress. I suppose that it would be an interesting endeavor to see how it spans out fully, for I have not seen any deterioration within the objects that I have brought with me. I can only assume that I shall not be harmed by this process. 

I have been missing the company of Mother and Charlotte, and I have been reminiscing on the argument with father as well. I doubt that they stayed within town. The opportunity in the city greatly outweighs any effect my disappearance could have possibly made. I think that after I observe what happens to myself here, I shall leave and go find them. 

Perhaps my findings here could bring me some fortune… In any case, I must sincerely apologize to them. I suppose that this experiment of mine is just delaying the inevitable, but I’ll find them. I’ll make this right, just after this is all. 

I do love them. I hope that I may be forgiven. 

His fate was spelled out for you so plainly, and the irony was so palpable that it could’ve been in a movie. This didn’t feel real, like a story that was unfolding in real time. The shy but remorseful boy painted by words was nothing like the man only a few feet away.

But looking at the dates… This was all in the span of a month. It mirrored your situation very closely, except you were aware of the consequences of what would happen if you actually let the silver coloring consume you entirely. Some sick part of you felt a little guilty. Guilty that you had the chance to get out, guilty that if you did, you would leave him here. It didn’t really make much sense to you, but you thought of how he must’ve been before you came here: lamenting over his family he never had the chance to properly say goodbye to, wishing that he had done something different, wishing that he had someone there to stave off the crushing weight of nothingness that was this place. He had hoped and waited for a chance like you to appear, and this would probably be the last time he would get one. For a long time anyways. When you left, if you left, he’d be destroyed. That fact alone was awful, but it wasn’t your fault and you needed to go home. 

But… the more you read and the more you thought it over, why did it feel like he could’ve left at any time?

You let out a small laugh as it dawned on you. The journal didn’t go back too far, but it made sense, didn’t it? He didn’t spend the night here, he wasn’t forced to stay here until the next full moon. He chose to stay here, and he felt guilty for it too. Then why couldn’t you go?

Another page. Another utterance of your name from beyond the door.

I’ve been monitoring the progress of this process for a week now. It was a slow process in the beginning, yet I found that as the days have gone by, it has spread quite quickly. I find that I can no longer tell the difference from before I’ve gone through this transformation in regards to my surroundings . I believe that it will be a bit jarring to see such vibrancy . The new moon has passed. It won’t be long until I can return. It is my sincerest hope that my family will understand this erratic decision of mine.

You moved on to another day, skipping a few other entries. This one, you noted, was different from the others. The ink was smudged, and there were small indents that had the words run ever so slightly. Tears, if your shaky guess was correct. The loops of cursive was messier than anything that you had seen him write before, not even the hurried poetry he would jot down on the crisp days, sitting in a drawing room while you lazed about. There was a heaviness as you gently rolled the stiff paper between the pads in your fingers. You inhaled deeply through your nose, steadying yourself for something that felt monumental.

I’ve failed.

I can’t go back. The gate was wide enough for me to go through. I should have been able to go through. What have I done? Father and Mother I want to see them. I want to go back.

Is there a way to go back? I’ll have to see. Maybe when the full moon comes I can leave. It’s never done this before. I could always leave as long as the light part of the gate was large enough. I even put my hand through it the other day. Why? Why now? I’ve been trying for hours.

I can go back. I have to go back. I’m so exhausted, and my vision is so blurred I can barely see what I’m writing. 

I should go to sleep. I’ll try again tomorrow when I wake.

You inhaled sharply. He could leave? The entire time?

“ [Name]...You understand right?”

You looked up sharply, your chest rising and falling rapidly. How could you have been so stupid? He lied. It was as plain as day, and you fell for it. 

“ You never planned to let me go, did you?” Samuel didn’t say anything this time. Your voice had wavered slightly, hurt seeping into your question. Though, you weren’t really asking. You gulped slightly, choosing your next words carefully. “ You were just going to lock me here once the full moon came, right? Because after that, I’d have to stay here forever. With you.”

You didn’t dare to reveal that you knew that you’d be fully taken by the silver before then. That you could leave before then. You just wanted to hear him admit it. Admit that this entire time, while you had been struggling with the guilt of leaving him behind, he had never intended to let you go in the first place. From the moment he met you, from the moment he shattered porcelain across his feet, he had decided that you were his. You choked back a small sob, to hold back the tears of anger. 

You were leaving tonight. The gate should be wide enough for you to squeeze through by now, and based on the state of your skin, this would likely be the last chance that you had to escape. You smoothed back your hair from your face, your entire body shaking with nerves.

“ Do you know what it was like?” He asked, steady and emotionless. “ Everyday, with every book in here read? Every thought I had already written down? I lived with 100 years of nothingness. My main joy in life was to find garbage. And everyday, I hoped that I could leave, or that something in this fucking place would just change for once.”

“ And I thought that, eventually, I would die and finally be able to leave this place. But nothing, NOTHING ever happened! And I thought that I had come to peace with that, I truly did. But when you appeared that day, I felt like all this time I’ve wasted, all these thoughts and feelings that I could never do anything with, they weren’t useless. You gave me a reason to start looking forward to waking up, to cooking, to living again. You were the answer to everything [Name]. You are my reward for suffering here by myself for all of this time.”

You sat there, cold sweat clamming up your palms as you scooted back on the floor. Samuel laughed lowly, and this time, you couldn’t picture what he looked like. The sound was so sinister in a way that was so unlike anything before.

“ So no, I’m not letting you leave. I never intended you to,” he said plainly. “ Everything I promised you, it’s still yours. My loyalty, my love, my everything…It belongs to you as yours does to me. Soon, we shall be equal in more ways than one, and you’ll understand. I promise.”

Hours had passed since then, and you sat on the floor of your room with your back pressed against the cold, hard wall. The journal was held tightly to your chest as you kept your eyes trained on the door, blinking ever so slightly from exhaustion and nodding off in fitful bouts of sleep. The sudden movement of your head lolling to the side would jerk you out of “rest” that would find you. Honestly, you didn’t know how you hadn’t broken into hysterics by this point. Same went for throwing up as your stomach felt like a blackhole, collapsing in on itself in a swirl of bile, fear, and the small amount of food that you had reluctantly accepted.

But Samuel hadn’t moved from his spot. After his sudden outburst, you had heard him softly crying against the wood of your door. Whispering your name, saying how happy he was that you were here. Eventually, he slumped down with drowsiness, snoring quietly and mumbling “[Name]”, breathing it like it was air. You waited and waited, hoping that he would fall far enough under slumber that he wouldn’t notice the light creaking of the floorboards as you found your way to your shaky feet and approached the window. 

The cold, dry air dusted over your skin as you gripped the sill, preparing yourself to hoist yourself over for what you prayed would be the last time. You looked back at the small amount of light coming from the small crack under the entrance, and the way his shadow stretched underneath it. Your chest squeezed with empathy despite it all, like you were leaving behind a toy at the store that you decided to not take home after all. But at the end of the day, you had your reasons, and to stay here was sentencing yourself to misery. You turned back to the starry sky and took in a large gasp of air before you pressed up against the floor to finally put this all behind you.

Suddenly, the maws of pain closed in on your ankle as you fell to the ground with a loud thud. The splintering feeling radiating from your foot was accompanied with a loud crack as you realized the floor had broken under you. Horror raced up your spine as the sharp barbs of wood dug into your skin. 

“ Shit, shit shit!” you hissed out as you hurriedly sat up and began to wrench your leg out of the newly formed hole.                   

“[Name]?” Samuel called your name drowsily, concern hiding behind his slurred words. His dark figure cloaked yours in shadow as he shifted. You let out a panicked grunt as you pulled hard on your stuck foot. The splintered wood formed gashes on your silver skin, the blood shining bright red against the greyscale night, ruby and glittering. You stared breathlessly, your vision blurring with awe and illness. How could it be so beautiful? 

There was banging on the door, far louder than any attempts he made in the past. That shook you out of your pain induced stupor in a second, and you began kicking wildly to get out. You had to get out. Out of this hole, out of this room, out of this world and fast.

“[Name]? What happened?” He asked while jiggling the handle violently. “ [Name]!? Answer me!” 

There were thundering footsteps, the drumming of your heartbeat and pulse, and shouts of your name. It was so loud and frantic, and you screamed in agony as you finally ripped your ankle free from the fragmented wood just as the door was thrown open with a large crash. You scrambled up as Samuel stood in the doorway, looking at the crimson splattered across the ground and your hands. 

His front was hidden by the lack of light that graced his shoulders instead, but in that split second you could see how disheveled he had become. His face gaunt with worry and mania, his posture hunched and yearning. This was not the man you had felt the spark of attention for. This was a monster determined to drag you down with him. 

“[Name]!” he cried as you ambled up. The adrenaline coursing through you stamped out the agony that radiated up your form, made you ignore the way you trembled, told you to get the fuck out of there. His arms reached to circle you in a damning embrace, but you slapped him away as best as you could.

“ Don’t Touch me!” you screeched, but he continued to advance. You stumbled up against your vanity, pressed up against hard floral carving as you palmed around behind for anything solid enough that could find your hand. He lurched forward, and you smashed the object against his head with as much force as you could muster up. 

Gears and pieces of porcelain scattered through the air, shooting like comets as silver blood streamed like starlight from his cheek. Samuel cried out in anguish as the music box hit his eyes, ears, and features. He stumbled back in shock, clutching the side of his face as he looked at you with a mix of betrayal and anger. You stood there, eyes locked for a few moments before you dashed out of the room.

“[NAME]!” he screamed as you tore out of the room, scarlet falling behind you in a trail of sinew and desperation. Your feet, dirty and worn thumped against the floor halls of the complex as you ran as quickly as you could. 

Samuel was up after you in a matter of seconds, and you looked over your shoulder to look at him stumbling and crashing into the walls and railings. He groaned loudly, one of his silver eyes screwed shut. You tripped slightly, your limp becoming an increasing hindrance. But you had to get out. You had to go.

You passed by the courtyard, passed the drawing rooms filled with papers and sweet smiles, past the half finished painting of your worried face, past the monumental amount of books, past the softly glowing lanterns that swayed gently despite the chaos until you finally appeared in front of the gate. It sat there in its half moon glory at the end of a lonely path. 

You jumped off the wooden halls and cried out when the pressure couldn’t be held up by your injured foot, causing you to collapse suddenly. Samuel was quick to catch up as you frantically crawled forward. The dirt scraped against the unmarred skin of your forearms while you dragged yourself to freedom. Up ahead laid the few shards of the porcelain cup that he dropped upon the first sight of you, the ones by you leaving small lacerations on your knees and palms as you cursed wildly.

“[NAME]!” He shouted as he stepped down and gripped onto your waist, pulling you back as you clawed at the ground, only finding purchase in one of the pieces of the destroyed cup. He pulled you into his chest, his bruised arms squeezing you tightly. “[Name],” he said, more relieved as he pressed a small kiss at the top of your head. The blood from his lip that had just been busted ghosting on your crown. 

“ It’s alright, I’ve got you now. You’re just frantic right now, hysterical even. It’s fine. I’ll care for you, I swear. So please… Just stop fighting me. I love you [Name], so please just accept it,” he murmured, pain clear as he held you harshly. You cried out slightly, squirming around.

“ I know,” you spat out.

“ What?”

“ I know you lied. I know that I just have to go through that gate and I can leave you for good.”

“ No… No you’re wrong. No you can only leave on the full moon, remember,” he laughed in disbelief as he shook you, his hands gripping your arms as he turned you to face him. He was shaking as a manic smile fell on his lips.

“ I read your journal Samuel. You’re full of shit, and I’m getting the fuck out of here!” You yelled as you began to thrash, kicking and snapping at his arms. His smile dropped instantly as he coldly grabbed your throat. Your breath snared at that moment as he shoved you down onto the ground. The pearlescent brick dug into your back as you gurgled in surprise. He began to squeeze.

“ You don’t know anything.”

“ S-Samuel,” you choked out as you tried to pry his hands off your airway.

“ [Name], I love you. I love you so much, yet you don’t understand. How I’ve yearned for something like this. Just accept it. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure that you won’t be able to leave after this, and then you’ll know,” he gritted as black spots began to cloud your vision. Your nails scratched at his arms wildly, taking chunks of silvers down with them. No, no ,no you had to get out. This was it! This was your only chance!

“ I- I love you too. I- I see now. I’m sorry,” you wheezed as you raised a quivering hand to cup the side of his face. In the same manner that you had wished to only a few days ago, you stroked his cheek and wiped the blood from his eye. He visibly softened, lips parting and gaze shimmering with hope. You smiled through your tears when his hands stopped pressed down on your throat, and Samuel leaned into your touch. He whimpered quietly as he closed his eyes and shed a single tear, relishing in your affection for one moment. One moment where he had everything he had ever dreamed of, content for the first time in centuries. You wished that he would find happiness before, but as the fingers of your other hand gripped onto a shard of porcelain just within reach, you knew that he wouldn’t be able to find it in you.

With one final scream of rage, fear, and sorrow, you slashed him across his face. The beautiful starlit man cried in agony, more guttural than anything you had heard in your entire life, as you shoved him off of you and made a running start for the gate. He blindly fumbled around for you, wailing when he found no trace of your warmth.

“ DON’T GO! PLEASE!” He screamed, desperately trying to push himself off of the ground. “ STAY WITH ME!”  His eyes, silver and filled with every emotion known to man, settled on you through blood and tears as you sprinted towards the half moon. ”[NAME]!!!!” He cried one last time before you jumped through, not even bothering to look at his pitiful state.

The world slurred around you in a cacophony of screams, silver, and the brightest of reds. It felt like you were in complete darkness, coated in anguish and regret, and then you couldn’t breathe. You fought, you struggled even with everything weighing you down, and eventually, you were able to take a gasp of air. You struggled for a moment before realizing that you were sopping wet and sitting in the middle of the pond that you had originally fallen into.

The clearing was still quiet as you scrambled out, slipping on damp grass and slick mud. You were filthy, with your clothes plastered to your skin. Not to mention it was absolutely freezing, cold ripping into your injury and fragile state. You swiped the water off your face, and when you caught sight of your fingers you laughed in relief. The noise ripped from your sore throat as the silver color of the realm slowly bled out from your skin, your color returning to its original hue. You had done it.

You cackled loudly as you fell back, looking up at the bright half moon, smiling down at you and your success. The moist grass wasn’t comfy, but you let yourself sink into it, simply too tired to care. And when your joy had passed, you stretched out your palms to the sky, imagined a heartbroken Samuel bleeding and weeping your name, and you too began to cry. 

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 9

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 5.7k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: @melancholicmelanin , @yvy1s, @honethatty12 A/N: Thank you for waiting so patiently, Finnick girls! I was able to post this one in its entirety. SMUTTTTT, and then angst. I give y'all a lil kiss and then I shoot ya. 🥲🥲🥲

Past (x) - You 

[19 & 20] - THE CAPITOL; ELEVENTH FLOOR

How your body looked had never truly been important to you. Growing up, the only thing that mattered was whether or not your arms and legs were strong enough to heft you up a tree, whether or not you had the stamina to climb up and down wooden giants with sacks of fruit on your back, whether or not your malnourished muscles could endure the strain of the games.

You know you’re attractive. Not because it’s something you thought of yourself, but because you wouldn’t be in your position if you weren’t. That fact doesn’t stop the nerves from bubbling up as Finnick unzips the back of your dress. 

In the garden, under the open sky, each kiss became more searching and desperate. It was unspoken, the step the two of you were taking—the two of you laughing and shushing each other as you snuck into your room like teenagers, still riding the high of your drinks. 

The zipper stops at the base of your spine, warm breath on your neck. He moves one strap down and then the other, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder. 

His fingers brush the bare skin of your back, and you turn around to face him. He holds your face between two big palms, grinning big and happy at you before kissing you. Finnick kisses like his lips against yours are the sum of his whole being. Like he’s trying to rob you of your last breath and replace it with his own. Like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing for the rest of his life. Your hands go to his waist, and you pull him closer until your chest presses against his. He’s warm, even through his shirt, and you feel that heat rubbing off on you. If you grip him any tighter, will your fingerprints sear into him? Will they become a permanent fixture on his body like the ghost of his touch is on yours?

You move one scalding palm to his chest, where his shirt cuts open. In your mind, you leave your handprint over his heart. You graze blunted nails over bare skin, making a red trail of five from his clavicle to his Adonis belt. He tenses and then leans into the drag. You unbuckle his belt and untuck his shirt from his pants. He licks at the seam of your mouth, and you welcome him graciously. He groans deep in his chest as you suck on his tongue, and you can stay here languishing in his affections until the sun gives out.

He backs you up until your calves bump into the foot of your bed.

He pauses, not to take a much-needed breath like you do, but to pull his shirt over his head and throw it in the general direction of where he left your shoes. In the back of your mind, you imagine how upset your stylists would be to see the two of you treat your clothes with so little respect. And with that thought, you let your dress drop to the ground.

You sit on the edge of your bed, heart in your stomach. In the past four years, you’ve seen each other in various states of undress but never with any intent behind it. This is different.

Finnick stands before you, and you laugh at his expression. The look of astonishment certainly makes you feel more confident. His eyes don’t move from you as you lounge back. 

His face twists up in apprehension like he’s psyching himself up to say something.

"I've never done this before. I mean, I've done this before, obviously. I just," he runs a hand through already messy hair, "I've never been with someone I care about." You sigh, and your shoulders relax. Relief washes over you. You have experience, sure, but everything you’ve done has been for the pleasure of someone else.  

"Me neither… But I wanna learn how." Your tongue is quick to add clarification that isn’t needed. “With you.”

“I’d hope so.” He chuckles, and a realization crosses his face. “I guess this is both of our first times, then, huh?” He pulls his belt from the loops before toeing out of his shoes at a leisurely pace, in no real rush. You lay back onto your elbows and watch him undress, probably smiling like an idiot.

"I don't want this to feel like it usually does. I want this to feel real." You want him to feel real. You point your toes to brush his clothed thigh as he undoes his pants.

“Always.” He promises. This will be something special for the two of you to share, a kind of loophole. Something no one else can take away from you.

“If we…” You trail off as he finally hooks his thumbs into his waistband and pulls it down, leaving him in his tight, black briefs, “Um.” You finish rather unintelligently. The corner of his mouth twitches up.

“Sorry, am I distracting you?” He gestures to himself, eyebrows lifted in a disingenuous apology. You shake your head dumbly as you watch his lips move, and he stalks towards you. What a novel thing, you decide, to actually feel attraction towards your partner without the aid of any aphrodisiacs. You had honestly doubted that it was possible, but Finnick had always been in the business of proving you wrong.

He straddles one of your legs, knee settled high between your thighs, and he leans in for a kiss that already belongs to him. Finnick urges you further up the bed with a nod of his head; kisses pressed to the underside of your jaw as you settle in the mountain of plush pillows. 

His mouth is pretty and pink. You give in to the impulse and bite his bottom lip, tugging it with your teeth. He moans into your mouth when you soothe it over with your tongue, and when he pulls away, his shark-tooth necklace dangles in your face.

You bite the bullet and go to unhook your strapless bra, but he stops you.

“Let me.” He murmurs against your lips long after you’ve forgotten what he’s asking you. You nod anyway, leaning up, and he moves to fully settle between your legs. His fingers brush your back as he unhooks it and pulls it off. The air nips at you, tightening the skin around your nipples. 

You’ve been naked before, plenty of times. But never in front of Finnick—never fully. You’re half tempted to do something childish, like cover yourself, but you’re stopped. Not by his hands but by the sheer adoration in his eyes as he looks his fill.

“You’re ravishing.” He grins down at you and says it like a fact. “Somehow, more than I imagined.”

“You’ve thought about me before, Odair?” You aim for cockiness, but you can’t keep the smile off your face for long.

“I always think about you. Whenever I’m in bed with a client, I'm picturing you instead.” You blink. And then blink again. While you’re a little surprised at the admission, you understand. You do the same thing yourself. You feel warmth spreading throughout your chest. Fortunately, he doesn't seem to expect a response from you, so he continues talking.

“I thought about how you’d feel, how you’d look. The sounds you’d make when I did this,” You gasp when he licks a strip up the valley of your breasts. “And this.” Your thighs clench around his slim waist as he blows cool air on the trail of spit he left. Your chest arches towards his mouth, a mind of its own.

“You always manage to exceed my expectations.” The muscles in your abdomen twitch with each syllable as he kisses his way down, light shining flattering on his bare back. “You’re beautiful.”

“So you’ve sai—said.” You say, too distracted by the drag of his lips on your skin and too flustered under the weight of his devotion to think clearly.

There's a sanctity in the way Finnick looks at you that confuses you at the best of times and overwhelms you at the worst. You never strain under the weight of just how in awe of you he is, but your knees get the urge to buckle and yield. 

You want to ask how. How can someone love another person so much? But there's no point in voicing it; you'd just be a hypocrite since you end up answering your own question whenever you look at him. You look at him now and feel that same certainty. You're two zealots, worshiping at each other's altars. A religion of reverence.

“And I’ll keep saying it until you believe it,” he kisses where your thigh meets your hip, “I’ll keep saying it until my lungs give out and even after that.” 

"And how are you gonna manage that, huh?" You snort at the conviction in his voice. 

"I'll figure it out,” he shrugs, smiling against your skin. “For you, I'll find a way." You snort again, shaking your head. Always so confident when it comes to you.

“What’s so funny?” He grins up at you. And the fact that he keeps moving further down doesn’t escape you. 

“I can’t say anyone’s ever waxed poetics while going down on me before.” You laugh, stretching your arms above you and settling deeper into the soft bed. Finnick follows the movement like a hawk.

“A shame.” He grabs a handful of your thighs in each hand. “These alone deserve sonnets written about ‘em.” You sigh in a put-upon way to hide how flattered you actually are. You’ve had people go down on you before, though it was never for your own satisfaction. You’ve faked so many orgasms that you can’t recall the last time you had a real one.

Familiar fingers push the crotch of your panties to the side, and it all feels so natural. You’re breathless. He runs his knuckles over where you’re soft and warm for him, and you flinch into the feeling. It would’ve been mortifying just how wet you are if you were with anyone other than Finnick.

“This all for me?” He laughs, still giggly from the wine. Scratch that thought. Still mortifying with Finnick—maybe even more so. 

“Oh my—please, shut up.” You groan into the safety of your hands, and you yelp when he nips at your leg in retaliation, skin made sensitive from his proximity.

“You gonna shut me up?” He smirks against your thigh, eyebrow lifted in a silent challenge and you clench around nothing at the gleam of indulgence in his eyes. 

“Maybe.” You take the unsaid request for what it is and thread your fingers through his hair, leading to where you’re aching for him.

“Pinch my arm if it’s too much.” You nod, but it seems he’s waiting for verbal confirmation. As soon as you give it, your only warning is a hot puff of air before soft lips descend on you with no preamble. Your back arches off the bed at the hot drag of his tongue.

Finnick wastes no time, so much so that it makes you wonder if he’s more eager than you are. He’s enthusiastic in his approach, licking at you almost greedily. His scruff rubs against you as he moves his head. 

He groans as you clench around his tongue, fingers jerking in his hair as your body tries to decide whether it’s too much or not enough. You could’ve come from that alone, his hands nailing your hips to the bed as he builds the heat in your abdomen with just his tongue. 

“Fuck me.” Either the alcohol has left your muscles loose and uncompromising, or you’ve seriously underestimated Finnick’s strength. Most likely both. Your attempts to buck away from the onslaught of pleasure are useless, with the arms wrapped under your thighs and the hands on your hips rendering you immobile. It’s like he’s made from stone, moving only when he wants to—not that he needs any guidance. 

“I plan to.” He pulls away for a second, and you think that’s the end of it. But then he spits, and your eyelids flutter as he lets it drip down before licking it up. The sounds, wet and sloppy, make your ears burn, and your toes curl. It’s embarrassing to hear just how much you’re enjoying it, just how much you want him. Almost as embarrassing as seeing and hearing how much Finnick is enjoying it. Moaning into you, hips jolting into the bed. The champagne teams up with the pleasure in a mission to make you light-headed and unsteady.

One of his hands travels up the expanse of your stomach. He holds the weight of your breast in his hand before he pinches your nipple. He twists the hard peak between his calloused thumb and forefinger, and it sparks down your back to the base of your spine. You say his name on each exhale and grab his wrist, just to have something to anchor to, or you’ll float away.

You throw your head back, a moan trapped in your throat. You claw at the pillow by your head and push on his head, though it’s futile. It only accomplishes him pulling you further down into his grasp. The more you squirm, the tighter he holds you, to the point that you’re practically riding his face.

“C’mon, Star,” he murmurs against you, and you’re left throbbing at the vibrations. You bite your lip hard enough to sting, “I know you can take it.” It’s more than you’ve felt before, the pleasure. It’s overpowering, drugging your senses. It’s never felt like this, like walking on a tightrope—one good push and you’re plunging over the edge head first. Finnick does something with his tongue that drains all the fight from you. You give in and grind down. And then you are riding his face.

You’ve never really focused on Finnick’s hands before. A grave oversight, you realize, because your first real exposure to just how big his hands are is when he slips his middle and ring finger in all the way to the knuckle. They’re thicker than yours, longer, and far more skilled than you’re used to—reaching places you weren’t prepared for and stretching you out more than you were expecting.

The tip of his tongue makes quick work of your clit, circling the bud once, twice, three times before he purses his lips around it—fingers working in tandem, keeping unforgiving pressure to a spot you’ve only ever had touched in passing. The hand you have on his head threads through his hair again.

"Stick your tongue out," he does as you ask and you buck against his mouth, "Fuck, Finn." You pull his head side to side, using the drag of his tongue to get off, and he goes along willingly. The sound of him pistoning his fingers inside of you is loud to your own ears, but the way he moans as he licks into you—in the gaps his fingers leave—is louder. 

Your toes curl, and you glance down. His lids are lowered, barely open, as he smiles up at you. Not with his mouth but with his eyes. Tiny crow's feet and dimples, probably proud to watch you wither on the bed. You grip the sheets with your free hand as you whine. You throw your right leg over his shoulder and use your foot to press his hips into the bed; he shudders. 

“Please.” You don’t even know what you’re begging for, mind muddled with thoughts of Finnick’s hands on you and Finnick’s mouth on you and Finnick, but he does. Of course, he knows what you want. 

He’s relentless. Long digits curl along your walls before stretching you out in a scissoring motion that has you seeing stars. But he always seems to know just when to switch back to periodically slurping at your clit before redirecting his attention to lapping at your leaking hole. It’s messy in a way you never associate with Finnick, yet strategic in a way you do.

All it takes is for his nose to rub against your clit, and the knot in your stomach unravels so suddenly that it takes you under like a wave. You come with a buck of your hips and his name on your tongue like it’s something holy, nails scratching uselessly at the sheets. And through it all, you can feel him watching you carefully as he fingers you through it; his gaze is heavier than any metal.

He leans back on his knees, and you both catch your breath. You stare up at him, breast heaving with each inhale. He stares back with your wetness coating his chin and mouth, light eyes made dark with lust as they trail over your body, and suddenly, you decide he’s too far away.

You pull him close with the foot that’s still hooked behind his back. Close enough to see the light smattering of freckles on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His eyes flicker over your face in anticipation and you kiss him chastely before going in for another. And another. You grab his chin, licking your way into his mouth and you can taste your pussy on his tongue.

“Thank you.” You whisper in between kisses, bringing your knees up to cage his hips and you flip him on his back.

You always knew he had a candid sort of beauty, in an offhanded way. Something so rich and straightforward that it can’t be argued against. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Finnick Odair is beautiful. 

Though it’s an irrefutable fact, under you, he doesn’t hold himself with the arrogance of someone who knows they’re attractive. He never has, never genuienly. 

Every feature works in tandem to paint his picture. Golden blond hair, bleached from being in the sun so much, is made even messier as you run your fingers through it. Long stretches of tanned skin jump under your touch as you trail a hand down his chest. His eyes shine under the hotel lights. As green as the sea glass he’s sent you and just as soft as he watches you map out his body in your mind. 

He smiles up at you, beaming—sunny in the truest sense of the word. Like if you looked at him any longer, your eyes wouldn’t be able to handle it. He turns and his lips, kiss-swollen and pouty, drag up one of the hands you've propped beside his head. He stops at your bracelet, holding eye contact and kissing the shell much like he did on the roof. Though, it’s far from an innocent peck. 

You settle your hips and grind against the hard line of his dick. You jerk into each other as the fabric drags against where you’re bare, his briefs being the only thing separating you. A blush spreads down the apples of his high cheekbones and becomes a backdrop to the freckles on his nose. It creeps down his long neck and you’re half tempted to follow its trail down his chest.

So, you do. 

His pec flexes under the bruising attention of your mouth. You take it a step further, scraping your teeth against the mark you’ve made and kissing it as an apology. You do it again a few inches down on the edge of his nipple and you feel the moan in his chest more than you hear it.

As you come back up, you trail your fingers down his happy trail. The smattering of hair is coarse against the fingers you dip into his waistband. You watch his reaction as you take him in hand. Soft lips slick with spit fall open between pants and his eyes fight to flutter shut. He hisses as you pull him out of his boxers and he’s warm and heavy in your hand. You glance down and you can say with utmost certainty that Finnick is pretty everywhere.

When you look to him for permission, he gives a laugh that’s on the verge of a moan. “‘M followin’ your lead here.” He pants, bucking into your hand. You rise to your knees. You know where you want to lead him.

You lower yourself down slowly, then all at once, moaning at the stretch. Finnick lets out a punched-out breath and his hands hold onto your thighs. Blunted nails dig into your skin as you rise up and drop back down with a gasp. A fire, starting low in your belly, gradually grows with each drag of him against your walls.

"Fuck, Star." He swears as you ride him, sitting up to hold you closer. Your thighs already burn, but you don’t even think about stopping. You push through it and Finnick is in your ear muttering incoherent half-sentences about how good you feel. How he’s even able to form words with how much he’s trembling is beyond you. You nip at the skin around his collarbone and stop yourself. You’re attempting to be mindful of how hard you’re biting, how hard you’re pressing dull nails into his skin.

“Don’t. Please.” He begs and reaches up, moving your right hand from his shoulder to lace with his left, “If I’m gonna have marks, I want ‘em to be yours, please.” He says it as a confession, or like a wish only you can grant. You’re used to vulnerability from Finnick, he gives it away like rain from a cloud. And, as usual, you suck it up like the droughted roots of a tree.

You lean forward, sucking at the skin where his neck meets his jaw—keeping your grip on his shoulder and hand. You let out a breathy whine when he instinctively bucks into you, your eyes almost rolling into the back of your head. He meets your thrusts with upward strokes of his own, each one knocking a gasp out of you.

Sweat drips down your back from the exertion and from being on top of Finnick’s warm body that grows even warmer with every clench of your walls. He’s hot and throbbing inside of you, and you buck down to chase that warmth every time it leaves your body. You meet each other in an open mouth kiss, barely pulling away to breathe.

His blurry eyes are heavy, routinely flickering from your face to where the two of you are connected and back again. You look down at the circle of white you’re leaving at the base of Finnick’s dick. The blond hair of his crotch is slick with it, wetting his happy trail. You grab at the wide expanse of his back, nails dragging red lines on his tan skin, hoping to be closer somehow, closer than two naked bodies rubbing against each other. He hisses and leans into it.

Distantly, you’re aware of the headboard hitting the wall with a resounding thud with your movement and you pray to anything listening that everyone on floor Eleven is asleep. Neither of you would ever be able to live it down if you woke up Chaff.

“We have–,” Finnick sucks a bruise onto the top of your breast, moving down to catch your nipple in his mouth, and you can feel him in your marrow, “-have to stay quiet." He nods into your neck, arms wrapped tight around your back. You both grind against each other and he grabs your hips so tight his fingerprints will be ingrained in your bones. 

“I love you.” He breathes into your neck, then pulls back. Thin, identical rings of green surround black. He stares up at you, pupils blown with love and lust in equal measure. “God, I love you.” He whispers it like it’s a secret that can do harm. In the wrong hands, it just might. 

Right now, all that you care about is this. This atomic moment in time that you and Finnick have carved out for yourselves, a space that’s only big enough for two hearts to beat as one.

-

“Finnick, you’re clearly tired. It’s okay. I mean, you’re practically asleep already.”

“No, ‘m not,” he mumbles under his breath, turning slightly to nuzzle his nose into the side of your thigh, “just restin’ my eyes. Keep goin’.” You sigh at his stubbornness.

You had been trying, and failing, to describe different crops to him. It’s very hard to point out the differences in trees using words alone, you’re not the poet between the two of you for a reason, and that’s when he came up with the grand idea of just showing him the plants using the projector on the far wall. 

You’ve been telling him stories of your youth, the good ones as few as they may be, of the shacktowns, the different family businesses, which farm had your favorite cow; things he wouldn’t have learned about Eleven in a textbook. And it was all going well until he started nodding off. To be fair to him, you have been going on for at least an hour and a half. You think you lost him somewhere in between miming how to use a hoe and explaining what an eggplant is. 

“If you insist.” You shrug, picking up the remote. 

“I do insist.” 

You trail your fingers up and down his spine, looping over freckles and moles as you change the hologram until a mango orchard appears. You worked on one just like this for most of your life, but the picture is off—it’s wrong. It’s too bright, too picturesque. The grass isn’t as high as it should be and the mangoes hang overly ripe on the branches.

“Mango trees were my favorite to work on. The branches spread high and far, so when it’s time to harvest, the leaves act as an umbrella to the heat. My only problem is how sticky they are. They’re such juicy fruit so they’re almost always sticky. Now, imagine having to collect hundreds of them and climb up and down these giant trees. Oh! Not to mention the sap. When there’s too much fluid built up, the mango will squirt sap that’s practically acid that burns your hands. You get burnt, you slow the work day down—” You’re cut off by snoring. 

The arm that was previously wrapped around your waist like a snake has fallen to drape over your legs, warm and heavy. You comb his hair back, running your nails over his scalp. You freeze as he shuffles around and he makes a discontented noise after you stop. He moves around until his entire cheek rests on your thigh, nose nudging your stomach and you feel the puff of air heat up your skin even through the sheet. He settles back down once you start moving your fingers through his silky strands again. You shake your head, smiling down at him. Demanding even in his sleep.

Not tired your ass.

-

My love,

You deserve the stars. And if I could reach up and pluck each one from the night sky to give you, I would. For now, I offer you my soul—though it’s a poor substitute. It’s all I have. That and my heart, which is more yours than it was ever mine. 

You’ve left your trace so that I can carry a piece of you on my skin. When I’m alone, I’ll press on bruises in the shape of your lips so that the pain will remind me I’m alive with your heart beating in my chest.

There are many people I envy. But that can’t outweigh the pity I feel for them. Because they’ll never have the chance to feel your warmth. 

What a privilege it is to love and be loved by you. 

-Yours, and only yours,

Finnick O.

Present (IX) - Finnick 

[23 & 24] - TRAINING CENTER

Victors young and old chatter amongst themselves as they wait to give their solo performances. Predictably, no one seems particularly nervous. They’ve all done this before.

He catches the woman from Nine rubbing the back of her district mate who’s looking a little green around the gills. Correction, Finnick’s not nervous. What number they’ll rate him is the last thing on his mind. It won’t dictate his likelihood of survival and it’s not like he needs a high score to garner sponsors if and when he’ll need them.

Mags presses her hand to his cheek and he leans into the contact. She’s always been able to make good of a shitty situation, but since that special night with Haymitch, she’s been especially content—serene even. Normally, her optimism would rub off on him. There’s plenty of pressure to succeed in the arena, but, if all goes well, everyone he cares about will be safe. It’s a notion that should have made him ecstatic. His eyes sweep to the right towards the back of the room where you sit between Chaff and Peeta.

Nothing’s ever that easy.

What are you thinking? 

If everything was as it should be, Finnick would just know. The two of you would’ve spoken extensively about the entire situation together. What was it that Haymitch said to sway you? What part do you play in the plan? He’d kill to hear your thoughts on something this important, no matter how pessimistic. He’s been dying to speak to you. But, clearly, the feeling isn’t mutual.

He’s only spoken to you twice in the past three days, if that even counts as talking. Not for a lack of trying, and it’s a daunting task. It would be one thing if you were angry at him—if you were blowing up at him. He could endure your, rightful, rage. He could handle that because at least you’d be acknowledging him. No, you’ve resorted to ignoring him. Not only that, but you’ve gone out of your way to avoid him. 

Whenever he tries to spark up any conversation, you regard him with a level of detachment you didn’t even give him when you were strangers. But his will is as strong as yours. He keeps trying. He keeps coming back like a kicked dog that won’t learn its lesson. It must be a spectacle to watch for those who don’t know him well. And for those who do, it must be pitiful—he must be pitiful. Finnick is a good actor, but it slips through the cracks. It can’t be helped. When it comes to you, he’s always been laid bare. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Now he’s acting like one of those yearning protagonists in those victor romance novels they sell in the Capitol. But his feelings can’t be expressed with ink on paper. He’s tried turning to writing as a means of escape instead of any substances, but it hurts too much never being able to send anything to you. To know someone inside and out and to be known in turn, just to be little more than strained strangers? It’s something out of Finnick’s worst nightmares. So much so that he has to fight the urge to pinch himself whenever you walk away from him. 

But who is he to complain? He’s living in a hell of his own creation. You could tell him to jump off of a bridge and he'd be so happy you talked to him that he’d ask if you preferred a swan dive or a backflip.

Your arms are crossed loosely under your chest while Chaff speaks to you animatedly. To anyone else, you must look annoyed. Brows furrowed and mouth twisted to the side. But Finnick knows better, knows you better. Your eyes are fond and engaged with whatever he's talking to you about.

Look at me, he wants to tell you, look at me and see me. You glance up and he panics at the thought that he might’ve been thinking out loud. He almost looks around him to check if anyone heard him, but he’s scared that if he so much as blinks, you’ll look away. You glance up and, just for a second, that fondness in your eyes is directed at him. It’s a moment that stretches for only a nanosecond before you look away again, but it feels like years.

He’s been staring too long, staring long enough for Katniss to notice. She catches his eye with thinly veiled confusion. She doesn’t understand and he doesn’t want her to. He doesn’t need a seventeen-year-old’s pity. He’s quick to turn back to Mags and her sympathetic stare. He used to find it grating, how much Mags can see. But he appreciates it now. 

Something Chaff said must’ve been funny to you, because he hears a sound he hasn’t heard in years. His heartbeat jumps in the tempo of your laughter. Mags threads her fingers through his hair. Though it offers little comfort, he’s thankful for the attempt.

When it’s finally Finnick’s turn, he doesn’t go in with a plan. He partially ignores whatever Plutarch is saying to him in favor of trying to see the resistance leader hidden in the shell of a Capitol elite. If everything Haymitch says about him is true, then he just might be a better actor than anyone he’s ever seen. Because try as he might, Finnick can’t see the connection.

He looks at everything laid out before him and makes up something simple. There's no need to show off. 

He picks up a length of rope and ties it into the knot he taught Katniss, a noose. He puts it around the neck of one of the training dummies, hoisting it over a metal bar and tying the end to one of the sturdy metal table legs. He glances over the array of weapons and considers the dummy. It’s plastic, a hardened casing that should be impervious to damage. 

It should be. 

He picks up the sharpest knife he can find, testing the point, before grabbing a spear from the display. He takes a few steps back and then a few more. He flips the knife in his non-dominant hand one time before aiming for the spot in the rope that’s holding the most tension. He throws the blade, sniping the rope, and dropping the dummy. But before it can touch the ground, he brings the spear back and throws it forward. It pierces the dummy’s head, sending it back a few feet.

He walks out to the sound of applause behind him.

Much, much later in the day when scores are released, Finnick isn’t surprised by your eight or his eleven. However, after seeing Peeta and Katniss’s matching twelves, he has to wonder how organic any of that scoring was. 

-

A/N: Star, rolling a nat 20 in intelligence and charisma, but a 7 in wisdom: Fuck Finnick, he obviously pities me that's the only reason he'd ever want to talk to me Finnick, literally on his knees: pLEASE 🥺🥺🥺 Pussy put his ass to sleep, buenas noches🤭🤭🤭. I went to a different plane of existence making this smut. I hope y'all are picking up all the water and earth imagery I've been implementing. At first, it was accidental, but then my beta READER said it was cool so I pushed into it. Also, doing Finnick's interview was my clever way of avoiding making one for Star heehee

[jellyfishoreo1206]

You can ignore this if you want but!! I have an idea for a request: Gavril and mc trying to make homemade cheese together. Whether Mc already knows how to make cheese or not can be up to you!

Making Cheese with Gavril

Notes: I'M BACK, I SWEAR GUYS I AM NOT DEAD. Seriously I'm so sorry for leaving y'all w/o anything, my motivation to write anything had disappeared and finals bombarding me SUCKKKED. BUT I'M FINALLY FREE, RAHHHHHHH!!!! Anyway I was reminded of this one ask Part got last year with a cheese maker reader/food taster (I couldn't find it but it's somewhere on their dash, so credit to the person who asked the ask!) and I thought why not use that? Enjoy reading! (He may be OOC guys, it's been a while since I last wrote T~T)

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol in here (idk if Gavril drinks alcohol but considering the crap he goes through, that boy needs a DRINK)

----

Working as a cheese maker is a lot of work, as simple as it may seem to others outside of the profession. Physically demanding your attention each and every day. But that was part of the job either way. Doesn't mean it can't be fun, especially if you're a fanatic of cheese.

Tomorrow was your day off, your muscles finally being able to relax from the constant lifting, stirring, and pressing that they had to endure. You had a pretty good idea of what to do when you came back from work, and that was to relax until the early hours of the morning.

It was getting dark; the sun setting as it casted its long shadows onto the ground below. You felt yourself sinking into the couch cushion, the nerves of your limbs becoming fuzzy as your mind went numb watching the screen of the TV, some random show you couldn't bother to pay attention too for the last couple of hours.

A ping from your phone pulls your attention away from the show you were mindlessly watching, slowly pushing yourself up from the couch— wincing a bit as your limbs were finally moving again after so long—as you reached for it. You had a pretty good guess of who it was, as he was the only one who texted you on a daily basis.

Open your window please <3

"Didn't know my day could get any better." Smiling, you sent him a message back, standing up from the couch as you stretched your arms high above your head; a few of your joints popping in the process, letting out a sigh of satisfaction.

Which one?

Bedroom window

Omw

It scared the crap out of you when he first appeared at your window with little to no warning, but with how things usually played out in your life, you got used to it eventually.

A smile graced your face when you saw him perched by your window with an eager look on his face, his goopy tail seemingly wagging at the sight of you once you approached closer to the window.

Thank god he actually came when it was dark this time, you don't need another situation happening with your neighbor freaking out to the police.

"Hey." You offered quietly in greeting, wrapping your arms around his neck as you nuzzled into his skin—enjoying the warmth he seemed to radiate. He copied your actions, wrapping his arms around your waist—his grip gentle yet tight as he pulled you to himself.

"Hello, darling." He mumbles into your hair, placing a kiss atop your head.

"Didn't know you were coming back so soon?"

"Wanted to surprise you."

"Well, color me surprised."

~~~

"So," Your back was turned to Gavril as you poured the two of you drinks, "-anything new happened on your crazy adventure?"

At this point it was routine for the both of you. Gavril comes back, you make sure he isn't injured, catch up with each other's lives. Most of the time Gavril's stories seem to be a tad bit more interesting than yours, and concerning at the same time.

Very concerning.

"Not much," He starts, "-but I did get chased by some agents a few weeks back.." A awkward smile appears on his face as he shrugged his shoulders. His coat was currently laid across his lap, his fingers fiddling with the frayed edges while he looks around the room. Walking over to him, you offered him the glass as you sat down in the chair next to him, he gladly took it—taking a small sip of it before placing it down onto the table. You took a sip of your own drink, the liquid giving your throat a slight burn that soon settled into a slight tingle.

It's been a while since you last had a drink, not crazy long ago though, watching as the liquid swirls in the glass before bringing it back up to your lips again—embracing the burning yet warming feeling of the liquid.

"Did that same redhead appear again?" Gavril mentioned him once or twice before to you, you're not sure what the name of the guy is, all you know is that he constantly reappears and how cowardly he can be.

"No, only his buddy showed up this time. Wasn't like anything changed though." The corners of his lips hint at a smile, bringing a hand up to the one prominent curl of his hair as he plays with it for a bit, twirling it around his finger. "I wonder how he even got that far in without quitting." You murmured out. From what you've heard, FBI training is no joke, and very intense. Both physically and mentally. Those who can't handle the challenge usually quit early on; and if they do pass, then there's the insane amount of cases that would affect nearly anyone. So for the redhead to get that far still puzzles you.

"I wonder the same too."

You continued to talk for what seemed like hours, pouring yourselves a few more drinks as the day slowly faded away into the early hours of the morning. Your muscles felt relaxed, more at ease; a comforting haze overtaking your brain as you let today's worries slip away. It doesn't seem Gavril is feeling the effects of the drink other than the nearly invisble tint of red on his cheeks and his relaxed posture instead of the regular stiffness.

Drinking the last bit of the liquid left in your cup, you stand up from your chair as you head towards the fridge, looking back towards Gavril to offer him something to eat, "You hungry?"

He hums out in confirmation, head now resting on top of his folded arms, eyes closed. Peering into the fridge, you clicked your tongue; no cheese. Searching every corner of the fridge, nope, nada. What a pickle you were in.

You could just go to the convince store that's not far from here, 10 minutes by foot. But is it opened? Checking the time on your phone, no, they closed just a few minutes ago. Are you sure your eyes didn't just missed the cheese?

Second time looking, again, nothing.

While searching the fridge for a third time, a thought pops up.

'Well...there's milk, and a few lemons...' Looking in the cabinet next to the fridge, yup, salt and some leftover animal rennet.

Ah, a quick and easy solution to your small problem.

Quickly getting to work, you grabbed two small bowls, pouring water into both of them. Rinsing and cutting the lemon, you squeezed some of the juice into one of the bowls, mixing it and setting it aside. For the second bowl, you added some animal rennet into the water, mixed it and set it aside with the other. Once placing the pot on top the stove, you felt the embrace of two arms wrapping around your midsection with the added weight of something on your shoulder. Peeking behind you to see Gavril, with a curious look in his eyes.

"Something wrong?"

"What..exactly are you doing?"

"Ran out of cheese, so I'm making some." You respond cheerily, a tired smile spreading on your face. Turning back to the task at hand, you missed the way that red tint on his face seemed to have become darker, hugging you closer to himself as he watches your hands at work.

Despite you guys dating for several months, he still gets shy about acts of affection. Kisses, praises, gifts, being pampered; It just gives him that fluttery feeling that cascades through him. It's not that he hates it, no far from that, it's just that he doesn't know what to do. Being isolated from everyone—for who knows how long—and his only company as rats made him rather awkward. You don't mind it though—it's adorable to you whenever he hides his face in the shadow of his hood when you give him a kiss on the cheek—you want him to be comfortable around you, so usually give him ways out or just let him control the pace.

"Can I help?"

"Of course! Just, wash your hands first."

---

"So I just, pour it in?" There was a hint of hesitation in his voice, looking back and forth at the bowl with the animal rennet mixture and the pot of milk that was just taken off the heat. You had your phone playing some music— since you felt that the atmosphere was a bit too quiet—with one of Gavril's favorite rock bands playing as you guided him through the steps of making cheese.

"Yup, then just stir it in gently."

You watched as Gavril does as he was told, although a bit hesitantly once he began stirring. Walking over to him, you laid your hands atop his hands on the spoon, showing him the proper way to stir the cheese-to-be mixture. The contact brought a blush to his cheeks, a small smile forming on his face.

"Now that's done," Putting a lid on the pot, "-we wait for 10 minutes."

---

"You're gonna want to cut it in a grid-like pattern, like this!" Using a long knife, you cut two lines into the semi-solid mixture before handing the knife over to Gav.

"Oh, seems easy enough." He muttered to himself, changing the way he held the knife before holding it properly in his grip.

"Make sure to reach the bottom when cutting, cause right after this step is done, we're straining the liquid from the solids."

---

"I'll handle this part. I'll need to dunk the cheese in some hot water in order to stretch it properly." After straining out the cheese from the whey, you now needed to stretch it until it reached the right firmness. Gavril nods, as he lingers, a excited smile appearing on his face, his fangs peaking out.

Dunking the cheese into the water, you begin stretching. This part you somewhat don't like, it's not that the water is boiling hot, it just makes your skin irritated if it's submerged for long periods of time. Though it is a good way to release stress, it's like slime in a way. Edible slime, huh.

---

After adding the salt, you finally finished, good old Mozzarella cheese. Rolling it into small balls and storing it in some of the whey, you sit down as Gavril pops a ball of cheese into his mouth, a big smile appearing on his face.

A smile comes across your face as well, glad he's enjoying it. It's nice spending time with him, in moments like these. You kinda forget the fact that several month ago that he broke into your house and scared the living shit out of you when you realized you almost got killed.

...Does that count as Stockholm Syndrome??

Before you could think any further, a light poke to your arm brings you out of it. Looking towards Gavril, you see that he's offering you some cheese, a bashful smile on his face as a tint of red makes itself known. Aw, that's sweet of him.

"You can have some.."

"Thanks Gav." Popping the piece of cheese into your mouth, you savor the moment. Cheese tastes so much better when you're making it with those you care about.

What a great way to spend your day-off.

[bleach-your-panties]

victory ride - jean kirchstein x black!fem!reader

⚽️:soccer player!jean x black!fem reader

💎:inspired minimally by a real life encounter I had and because y'all know jean will have y'all in the hospital with that thang between his legs

⚽warnings: university au, smut, consensual recording, oral (m! receiving), switch!jean

💎: banner: made by me on pic collage, image from pinterest, animated on canva

⚽:tagging @chrollohearttags because they not finna play with long dick jean silver's

💎: divider: @/firefly-graphics

⚽: 2.1k words

▶️: rodeo(remix)- lah pat ft. flo milli

—

He love how I ride it

Hop on the dick, I made him get excited 

This pussy off limits for lame niggas

Yeah, fuck me like you got some pain in you

—-

You sat idly scrolling through your cell phone while Jean was getting dressed in his uniform for the game that was to start in a couple of hours. 

The first away game of the season and the Island Devils would be going up against some preppy university one state over. 

While you had been studying this team extensively, Jean had opted not to do so as much, mainly because his nerves wouldn't let him.

"I'm ready, babe. It's time for me to board the bus." He said, looking at the silver, black-bezel Seiko watch that you'd bought him for his birthday.

Your family believed in that old ass superstition that you should never buy a man a watch as a gift, because it would mean the time in your relationship would run out.

Which is why it was just that - a superstition. You and Jean had been together since your freshman year of college and now graduation is right around the corner.

"Okay baby. Sasha, Connie, and I will be right behind y'all." You grabbed your bag and he leaned down to give you a soft kiss on the lips.

"Lead the way, baby." He smiled that handsome and devious smile of his, making you roll your eyes.

"Don't think I'm not on to you, Kirchstein!" You pointed at him and began walking out of his apartment door and into the hallway to get to the elevator.

"What did I do?" He asked innocently all the while his hazel eyes were trailing all over your body: from your pastel pink manicured toes, up your toned legs and calf muscles, stopping at your plump, juicy ass that wiggled in the beige romper that you had on. "Damn."

"Uh huh, I knew it." You laughed and pushed your hand into his lower back, making him stumble into a corner of the elevator.

"You're mean." He fake-pouted.

"Uh huh," You said while typing something on your phone. "Better get used to it, buttercup, if you wanna win against the Freedomfighters tonight."

"Freedomfighters, what a stupid ass name." He scoffed. "We'll kick their asses for sure, don't you worry, baby."

When the team bus pulled into the hotel where you all would be staying, Connie parked the car in a space not too far from it and you all got out.

Apparently, the opposing team was staying at this exact same hotel because another bus, similar to your team's but decorated in green and red with a large design of two red roses on either side of a stone wall with a cannon blasting right through it, was parked right next to the guys'. 

A petulant-looking ginger was the first off of the bus, and Connie nudged you to get you to look. The tall, lean man was conversing with an equally-as-tall brunette with deep, emerald green eyes and his hair pulled back in a man-bun.

"He looks like an asshole." 

You chuckled, "He does and probably is. Come on, let's get inside."

The trio (you, Sasha, and Connie) walked into the hotel lobby and met up with Jean again.

His teammates were used to him running off to hang with the three of you and didn't really mind since he was the captain anyway.

"Ready to head up to the room, dollface?" He asked while heaving his backpack and duffle bag over his shoulders. His face came down to press a kiss against your hair, which made you giggle.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

"No getting your dick wet before the game, Jean-y boy. Can't have you making us lose."

"Who the fuck is us? How many goals have you scored for this team? Oh right, zero." 

The two of them started bickering back and forth while you walked ahead with Sasha, who'd started chatting in your ear about a popular restaurant in the area.

Shiny metal doors parted for you all and Sasha hit the button for the doors to close until a tan, veiny hand stopped them. A group of very tall athletes sauntered in, laughing and chattering amongst themselves. 

The space inside the elevator soon became very crowded, almost squishing the four of you against the elevator's back wall.

'Damn, excuse you then, big ass niggas'  You thought while rolling your eyes.

"Verzeihen Sie uns. Platz für ein paar mehr?" (Pardon us. Room for a couple more?)

The ginger and brunette from before, obviously all of them are players on the team Jean is about to go up against us.

Said ginger rolled his eyes as they both stepped into the elevator and stood right next to you, finally letting the doors close.

"Eren, not everyone speaks German, cut it out." 

The brunette chuckled deeply. 

"My apologies."

His eyes then met yours, jaded hues traveling slowly over your frame, drinking you in.

"Meine Güte, was für eine schöne Frau." (My, what a beautiful woman.)"

You just raised an eyebrow, not understanding a lick of German, but Jean did.

He was between you and Eren in an instant, only having to take one long step forward with those strong, muscular legs.

While he was sizing Eren up, you were doing the same to Jean: your brown eyes roamed over all 6'4" inches of him.

How those black socks covered his legs up to just under his knees and how the silky white and blue shorts formed around the thick, muscled curvature of his ass just right.

Here you were drooling over him while he was about to murder Eren with his honeyed glare.

"Ja, das ist sie, und sie ist bereits vergeben." (Yes she is, and she's already spoken for)

Eren gave Jean a cocky smirk and held his hands up in a mock surrender.

"My apologies, again."

The elevator stopped on their floor and they got out, Eren still with his grin and Floch behind him with the look of a pure dumbass who would support his friend hitting on another man's girlfriend. 

"Who were those pricks, anyway?" Jean grumbled looking down at the three of you as you all walked out into the hallway of the fifth floor.

"The brunette was Eren Yeager from Germany, #5. The ginger, Floch Forster from Ireland, #7."  You informed the group.

"So you knew who he was this entire time?" Jean asked with an eyebrow raised and a teeny bit of jealousy threaded in throughout his usually calm and deep baritone.

"It's not that big of a deal, it's not like I'm his best friend. I just studied him a bit."

"Studied him?" 

Jean's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and his forehead wrinkled significantly. His face portrayed a pretense of self-restraint, like he was attempting to prevent himself from making a scene in the middle of the hallway.

"Anddddd that's our cue to go. Come on, Sasha." Connie quickly grabbed the dark-auburn-haired woman's hand and pulled her down the hallway in the direction of their room.

Awkwardly, you stood with Jean in the middle of the hallway for a few seconds until he turned and stalked off towards your shared room.

His long, spindly fingers held the hotel keycard in a death grip; the veins in his forearms protruded and you could feel your panties getting wet. 

"Um, are you mad?" 

They lost.

The Freedomfighters actually beat the Island Devils, 3-0.

If you thought Jean was mad before, oh baby, now he was enraged.

Not at you, but more so himself.

That damned Eren Yeager turned out to be a pretty decent soccer player and it only irritated Jean even more when he saw you standing on the sidelines with your video camera.

It wasn't unusual for you to record his games so he and the team could watch the playback later to see what needed to be improved upon, but tonight it only irritated him everytime he looked up to see you with the damned contraption pointed right at him.

Capturing all of his failures of the night live and in 4K resolution.

What made it even worse was that he saw you pointing the camera towards Eren quite a bit as he ran up and down the field.

Jean was only irritated further when you both had returned to the room after the game and he came out of the shower to see you curled up on the bed, already watching the newly acquired video footage. 

"Will you put that goddamned thing down already?" 

You leaned up from your reclining position on the pillow to acknowledge him.

"Come again?"

"You heard me, or better yet-" 

—-

I wanna fuck you right now

Reverse that cowgirl, I'm bucking right now

Climb on this standardbred, hope you can handle it

Beat that cat up when this dog put it down 

Let's make a movie, girl, I'll do the shootin'

Camera in my left with your hair in my right 

—-

"Yeah, just like that, baby….fuckkkk, hold that angle right there, don't you move."

Jean shivered, but kept his hazel eyes focused on the  image of you in the viewfinder swallowing his dick.

His right hand held a tight grip on your hair while he thrust his hips rhythmically back and forth, making you gag on his fat length.

Long and thick, his dick touched the very back of your throat, the outline of it making the skin of your neck bulge in the most grotesque fashion.

"You look so good like this, baby, practically inhaling my dick. Wonder what Yeager would think if he saw you like this, yeah?"

As soon as he mentioned the German man, his eyes crinkled with anger again and his thrusts grew in both force and speed.

Knowing Jean, he'd probably started recording over the footage you'd taken of the game, that which he could honestly give a damn about right now.

"Fuck, I think I like this view much better." He smirked and then let out a deep groan as he emptied his balls in your searing, placable mouth.

"Shit…" He made sure to capture the image of you swallowing his nut and then wiping the excess from around your mouth with those pretty acrylic-tipped fingers.

"Come here; come ride me, baby."

—-

No time to make love, yeah 

Keep screamin' you want it

Girl you lookin' lovely 

When you ride this pony 

We can do this to the morning 

So please come and ride me

Love it when I'm deep inside you

You goin' crazy, yeah

—-

Jean's muffled moans seeped through your hand as you now held the camera pointed at him while bouncing up and down on his thick length.

Years of being together and still you felt the stretch of your pussy every time he was inside of you. 

Your hand moved from his mouth and tangled in his ash-brown hair and pulled his head back and forth in time with your movements. He could be very loud in bed, which you loved because you revered a man that would let you know that you're making him feel good as well.

"Shit, Jean, baby, you look so fucking good on camera, just as good as you do when you're on the field." You mewled in heightened pleasure, wanting to throw your own head back but also not wanting to miss a single second of his gorgeous face gazing up at you.

His chest and forehead glistening with sweat, those honey-gray eyes shining with unshed tears as his body soon began to tremble with his impending orgasm. Yeah, you had that much of an effect on him. 

Just looking at you could make him hard in an instant, but looking up at you while you took his dick like you owned it (and you do) had him more swollen and readier than ever to shoot off inside you like the cannon depicted on the side of the Freedomfighters' bus.

Yeah, after the ride you were giving him tonight he was bound to forget all about Eren, the team, the game - hell, he might even forget his own name for a couple of hours.

That is, if he didn't have you screaming it through the thin walls of this hotel room in those next hours.

Eren might have won the game, but he was the one taking a victory ride tonight.

—-

(If you're horny)

I wanna feel your body on top of mine 

(Let's do it)

Right now, we ain't gone waste no time, baby (ride it)

Like a Harley in the wind 

Got you bragging to your friends the way you ride (my pony)

Like a rodeo, ride like a rodeo, babe

*ʳᵉᵇˡᵒᵍˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵉᶜⁱᵃᵗᵉᵈ!

[lovemesomeeddiemunson]

The Proposal - Part 5

Summary: When Steve Harrington is threatened with deportation, he blackmails his long suffering assistant, Eddie Munson, into marrying him. Steddie! The Proposal Au, Part 5 of 7. 4232 Words

Series Warnings: Blackmail. Food mentions. Mentions of unhealthy relationship with food. Cursing. Self harm (by means of tattooing.) Homophobia. Death of a parent. Abandonment by parents. Shitty parents. Homophobic parents. Parents with entitlement. Classism. Eventual sexual situations (no actual smut!) Brief allusion to a panic attack.

Authors Note: We're almost to the end here y'all! How we doing? I'd love to hear your thoughts!

“So, uh, you’re a Junior?” Steve’s words break the silence.

Eddie, who is laid out flat on his back, staring at the ceiling flinches in answer, his voice small. “No, I’m not.” Not technically. 

“Oh, I just, I thought…” Steve tries to press, but Eddie cuts him off. He doesn't want to hear it. “It’s just a nickname.” 

“Just a nickname.” Steve repeats, voice laced with doubt.

“They don’t have those in Italy?” Eddie cuttingly replies. 

At which point Steve sits up and turns to glare at Eddie. “What’s your problem, man?” 

Eddie shrinks under his gaze, frowning unhappily as he mutters back. “Nothing.” Unconvincingly.

Steve purses his lips at that, and presses on. “Did I strike a nerve? Is it a sore spot for you?”

“Ohhhhh. I’m sorry. That question is not in the binder.” Eddie replies with a halfhearted little chuckle.

“Oh, really? I thought you were the one that said we needed to learn everything about—“ Steve starts but Eddie shakes his head. “Not about that I didn’t.” 

“But-“ Steve protests.

“Not about that, Steve. Good night.” He snaps. Regrets it when Steve flinches.

Unsure how to fix it, he stews in silence, breathing deeply, trying to come up with something. Thoughts going around and around.

He’s properly kicked himself for the whole interaction at least four times by the time Steve speaks again, his voice timid, words totally unexpected as they break the silence that had settled awkwardly over the two men sharing a bed.

“I like watching The Real Housewives.” He volunteers quietly, interrupting Eddie’s thoughts with his unprompted reveal.

“Huh?” Eddie answers in confusion, eyes still fixated upwards.

“Not in the ‘haha, isn’t that funny, he likes that trash’ kind of way. I actually quite enjoy it.” Steve murmurs back, fiddling with the blanket pulled up to his chest. 

Still confused, Eddie takes it in as Steve continues, “I took ballroom dance lessons in the sixth grade…My first concert was Bob Seger and the Silver bullets…” 

Clears his throat. “I think Kirk Hammett is sexy…My first kiss with a girl was with Carol Perkins when I was thirteen. Later that same year I also kissed Tommy Hagan. They’re married now.” 

Eddie laughs in bewilderment. 

“Never had a pet.” Steve glances at Eddie, who isn’t looking back at him, which makes it easier for him to say what he wants to say next. ”The tattoo I wanted to remove?” He asks, humming, “I got it on my ribs because I wanted it to hurt. It’s in Italian - verso cose più grandi. It means ‘Toward greater things.’ I got it after my parents disowned me.”

There’s another silent pause before he continues “I haven’t…slept with anyone in…over a year and a half. And uh…I went to the bathroom and cried after Billy suggested that I was going to die alone.” 

Eddie pulls the blanket tighter around him, the statement unexpectedly tearing straight to his heart when Steve adds. “That’s my biggest fear. Or, it was.” He stammers. “Lately I’ve been much more afraid of-” he cuts himself off. Squeezes his eyes shut. Leaving the words unspoken.

“Doesn’t matter.” He whispers. A few more beats go by. 

Eddie thinks he may be all out of revelations, until, in the softest voice possible, he whispers another confession that shocks Eddie to his core. “I’m uh, I’m losing my hearing.” 

To which Eddie’s head finally shoots over to look at him, his jaw slack. 

“I haven’t told anyone that. For obvious reasons.” Not meeting his eye, Steve clears his throat. 

“Steve,” Eddie’s voice breaks. He had been coordinating this man’s entire life and he’d had no idea. None. 

“It’s been gradual but - yeah. Too many concussions.” He explains with a dry chuckle. “I’ve had it checked out. Gotten a second and third opinion. It’s not a matter of if at this point, uh, it’s just a matter of when.”

He glances at the ceiling. “I guess you didn’t know. I thought you might suspect…all the emailing lately. The transcriptions I have you write up of my meetings…And then, there’s been a difference in the music. Comments you’ve made on the stuff I used to produce. How it was good. Past tense. I had more confidence in my abilities then…I didn’t rely so heavily on projections and numbers and all that bullshit that spells sales, yes, but good music?” He almost smiles. “It’s not the same. You’re right. Try as I might to fill in the gaps - experiencing the way the music feels…”

He gives a little shake of his head. “It’s not the same. And still, I couldn't do a thing without you. You, who are so loud about your opinions of the demos that artists send me when they’re worthwhile, or they’re garbage and I - I trust you.” He admits, the most damning admittance of all.

“You um. You know good music. And you know me. You’ve always been able to see me more clearly than I - than I’ve liked.” He stops. Swallows thickly, voice low again, and reserved. “I’m sure there are many, many, other things, but that’s all I can come up with right now.” 

Eddie rolls back over in the bed, and clenches his eyes closed as Steve finishes.

It’s silent for a bit.

“Eddie?” Steve broaches finally, his shaky voice attributing to his vulnerability in the moment they’re sharing. “You, uh, you there?”

“I’m here.” Eddie promises softly, “Just - just processing.” 

That was one way of explaining it. How his world has been tilted off of its axis. Left him fumbling for his footing, unsure.

This was unexpected. 

Even Steve, as he’d clearly hated opening up to Eddie, he’d done so. Given him much more to work with than the surface level things Eddie already knew. This was a deeper intimacy than just knowing if his stove was gas or electric, and Eddie is…lost with it.

Still, he knows how to ease the tension, if nothing else. He slowly starts to smile, probing, “You really haven’t slept with anyone in almost two years?”

Steve snorts. “That’s what you got out of all of that?” 

“That’s a long time.” Eddie defends himself.

“Yeah, well, firstly, you’re rounding up, and secondly, I’ve been a little busy.” Steve sarcastically answers. 

Eddie chuckles, and then there’s silence again between them. 

It’s comfortable, until, “Who’s Bob Seger?” Eddie suddenly asks. Steve sits up in his bed like a vampire exiting a coffin.

“Who’s Bob Seger?” Steve questions. “You - you know.” He starts singing in a surprisingly good voice, “You take those old records off the shelf - I’ll sit and listen to ‘em by myself. Today's music ain't got the same soul. I like that old time rock 'n' roll.” Steve grimaces. “You’re telling me that you work in the music industry, and you don’t know who Bob Seger is?” 

Eddie’s smiling. “I was kidding…I just wanted to hear you sing.” 

Steve whacks him with a pillow, both of them giggling until they settle back into the bed, silence filling the room once again.

“Steve?” Eddie asks him.

“Yes?” He replies.

Eddie gives it a beat - then changes his mind. “Thank you, for telling me.”

Steve lets out a little laugh through his nose. “Yeah…well.”

Eddie figures he owes him his truth, for the interview if nothing else. “And for what it’s worth…They call me Junior for my dad, Al…Spitting image, you know? Chip off the old block…The acorn that didn’t fall far or whatever it is you want to call it.” He chuckles humorlessly. 

Goes on, “I’d never really liked it when they said that but, uh, less so now.” Steve listens, lets Eddie talk, watching his lips move. Eddie is louder than he probably needs to be, out of consideration for Steve. “A couple years back he cooked up this scheme - I should have known better, really, but what he promised it was just - so tempting. So I got involved and it - it got real dicey. People got hurt. The house burned down, all mom’s records just - gone.” Eddie exhales. “He took off to save his own ass and uh, I haven’t seen him since. He didn’t bother coming back for me.”

Steve’s heart breaks for Eddie - who continues on with his explanation like it’s all well and good now, like it didn’t permanently alter him and his own personal Munson Doctrine. “I was supposed to move to California, but after the fallout, I had to stay a bit. After everything I put Wayne through, I had to stay a bit. And he - Al - he knew how to find me in California so I…I moved to New York instead, and now, here we are.”

“Here we are.” Steve chuckles. Thinking about the insanity of it all.

But, he also knows how to ease the tension. “None of that was on your job application, by the way.” He teases.

Eddie chortles. “Steve, you have to know by now that everyone lies on their resume.”

Steve glares at him. “You had glowing references!”

“I found those names and phone numbers online, sans the proper extensions, and figured you’d probably never actually bother to call them.” He snickers.

Steve gives a faux gasp. “You lured me in under false pretenses.”

“Sure did. And now you’re marrying me. Sucker.” Eddie laughs. Steve laughs too,  feeling a slight hitch in his throat.

“I…I don’t know if I properly apologized for that yet.” Steve supplies, ruining the light jovial moment with harsh realities.

Eddie winces. “No need.”

“There is a need though. Trapping you in this marriage I…I wish I hadn’t been so careless to let it come to this.” He sighs. Eddie sighs too, and doesn't berate Steve for his own negligence and mistakes. Which Steve appreciates.

“Well, it’s like you said, I’m yours now. Come hell or high water, til quickie divorce do us part.” He smiles, like Steve isn’t laying here trying to recover from Eddie calling himself his. 

“Sure.” Steve says weakly, and Eddie gives him a little nudge with his foot. 

“What’s done is done…and you know, for what it’s worth, I’m actually getting a pretty good deal out of this. A record deal. With a hot albeit temporary husband to parade around town, so…”

And Steve knows he’s attractive. He does. Has never doubted it, but to hear it from Eddie, when he’s complacent in all of their scheming…It messes him up a little. He gives a weak laugh at Eddie’s words, because it’s what’s expected of him, even as he’s reeling.

“Get some sleep,” Eddie says then, like it was nothing. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I want to see how your studying is going.” 

Right. Studying. For the interview. An impending deadline they were steadily marching towards, and their true goal, regardless of whatever…this was.

Steve nods, and Eddie says, “Night, Steve.” softly.

Steve’s answering voice is hollow.  “Buona notte, Eddie.”

Upon their return to New York, Steve is feeling deeply unsettled.

Not because of the ruse - that, in itself, remains as solid as ever. 

Through a warm goodbye with Wayne and a cozy plane ride home, Eddie had played the part perfectly. A doting fiancé who wore his love on the outskirts of his sleeve.

But now, they were back, the honeymoon was over, so to speak, and Eddie was already back to himself again. A doting employee.

He runs over the list of things Steve needs to know for work the next day, and asks Steve what he needs from him, willing to give and give and give.

Steve tries not to wince. “You’re off the clock for now.” He tells him, to Eddie’s utter confusion. “Seriously.” He swears. “Get some rest. There’s nothing so important we can’t tackle tomorrow morning.”

So Eddie, in his cute band shirt and dark wash jeans, had taken his own car home. Probably unpacked. Probably ate something without guilt, played his guitar, took a nap - something fucking normal, while Steve went home, to his big empty apartment, alone.

Well not, totally empty.

“Dingus.” A female voice calls out affectionately as he walks through the door.

Rather than being disturbed by the intruder in his home, Steve’s shoulders slump in relief.

Robin Buckley - his best friend, wielder of a spare key, and the only person in the world who was privy to the inner workings of Steve’s mind - somehow always knows when he needs her.

She’s dressed well, smiling from the bar stool at his kitchen island with one of his fancy waters to sip on as his doorman deposits his bags inside, Steve passing him some cash before he goes.

As soon as he has that business settled, he’s falling into Robin's arms, almost crushing her in his encompassing hug.

“Woah!” She laughs. “It hasn’t been that long. Just a week.” Referring of course to her own trip - the one she’d disappeared on before this whole mess had gotten underway.

Steve gives a head shake in any case. “That’s like forever,” he whined as she laughed some more, ruffling his hair. Giving him a once over. 

Clocking immediately that something is wrong. “Why the dark cloud, Stevie?”

He makes a face. Trying not to cry. She gets a brief flicker of panic across her face. “Oh no.” She says immediately. “Who do I need to kill?”

He wheezes out a laugh, and then, against his better judgment - involves Robin in his crimes as well. Because why not her too, on top of Eddie? Why not ruin everything he touches, like he always has. Because he’s bullshit - his love is bullshit - he…

“So…you like him. Your assistant.” Robin says finally, before he can fully spiral.

Steve nods pitifully. 

“But you can’t tell him, because of the…current arrangement. And the blackmail, not to mention the work relationship you have - holy shit Steve this is so inappropriate-” she rambles.

Steve moans. “I know.”

“Well, does he like you back?” Robin suddenly asks. Steve glares at her. “Robin, please, be serious.”

“I am serious!” She defends. “You said things changed while you were out there, right? What if it wasn’t just one sided.”

“That could never happen.” Steve bites.

Robin huffs. “Why not?”

“Because he’s…good, Rob. He’s so fucking good, and sweet…And fucking, down to earth. And I’m…not.” His lip quivers. 

Robin grasps his hand. “Steve…”

“There’s no way he could ever like me. This is just a…a helpless situation I’ve put him in, that he’s making the best of.” He leaves no room for argument. “I just…I had to tell you. Had to hear you say all of that. To remind me. You’re right. You’re right, and it’s fine. It’s just a stupid crush. I’ll get over it.”

Robin doesn’t look like she believe him. Which is…fair. What she says next is not.

“Or…” she starts. Steve raises an eyebrow. “Or?” He presses.

She sort of smiles, “Or you could…woo him.”

“Woo him?” Steve gapes.

“Well yeah!” She defends. “So long as your plan is to end this boss-employee dynamic, why not try and keep him? You’re pretty likable when you’re not a raging bitch. I don’t see why he would be impervious to your…charms.” She snickers.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, tries to keep her words from invading his brain. “That’s insane.”

“Why? Because you might actually end up being happy?” She stares him down. “You deserve to be happy, Steve.”

“Not like this. Not at his expense.” Steve argues firmly. 

Robin only sighs. “Just think about it, will you? Start small. Get to know him. Treat him like a person, instead of…whatever it is you do.”

Steve grimaces. Robin sits back in her seat, swinging her legs, casually adding, “I can’t wait to meet him.”

Steve looks at her funny. “Meet him?” He asks.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Steve. That’s how this works - you meet his family - he meets yours - or has it been so long since you’ve done this that you forgot?”

He swats at her. “Shut up.”

She laughs, “I’m serious! He sounds wonderful, and he’s going to be Mrs. Harrington - we need his blessing to continue our Bitchin’ Brunches, and oh! Do you think he’ll do the marathon with us? It’s still pretty far out, we can get him a shirt made-”

Steve lets her go, talking aloud in circles while he gives responses where appropriate. Once they’re mercifully done discussing the whole thing with Eddie, they move on to her latest field research trip, and other important topics they’ve had stirring around in their brains while they’ve been apart.

It feels good, like he’s truly come home, a feeling Steve didn’t have when he thought he was returning to an empty apartment.

And with Robin in his corner, it feels like everything else will work itself out.

Steve approaches the subject of ‘Robin’ one morning a few days later while Eddie hands him an expense report.

He presents her as a fact of his life - nonnegotiable. Eddie isn’t nearly as perturbed as some of his romantic partners have been in the past - but then again, he and Eddie weren’t really romantic partners.

“Looking forward to meeting her.” Eddie replies. And Steve kinda hates that. How easily Eddie agrees to anything he asks. And it’s not Eddie’s fault, it’s his job, it’s why he was hired, but…

Steve would be lying if he said he hadn’t spent way too much time dwelling on Robin’s words.

And he yearns.

“Oh, and uh, one more thing…she knows.” Steve adds.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “She knows.” He repeats. Steve doesn’t like the look on his face, like he’s done something wrong.

“I…she saw right through me. In two seconds. I couldn’t lie to her. I can never lie to her…And it helps, kind of? She’ll corroborate our story. Someone in our lives had to have known, right? Even if it was a secret?” He rationalizes.

Eddie’s face is blank. “I guess.”

Steve is frustrated. “Why are you upset?”

“I’m not.” He lies. Steve glares. His expression cracks. Eddie sighs, walking on eggshells and oh Steve hates that even more.

“It’s just…we laid the groundwork, swore no one knew and now there’s another layer to it. Another person whose answers need to match, more of this I need to coordinate and I just…it’s a lot.”

Steve deflates a bit. Want to apologize but instead offers a flat, “I get that.”

Eddie exaggeratedly perks up, handing him his highlighter, “Don’t worry about it, Steve. I will figure it out.”

He goes to exit the office. Steve feels like shit, calls out. “Eddie?”

The other man stops and turns around. Steve sighs. “I’m really sorry but, I need you this afternoon, after my meeting. We have to go to my apartment.”

Eddie doesn’t mind, he had to work this afternoon anyways. Nods dutifully. “Course,’ whatever you need.”

He heads out. Steve drops his head onto the desk, feeling pain starting behind his eyes, spreadsheets forgotten.

Eddie gets back to his work day - thinking nothing of Steve’s latest request for his time.

Since the engagement, Eddie has been pulled to and fro by him in a whirlwind, always insisting on Eddie being clocked in for it, even if their business is dubious at best. 

The other day he’d spent the morning with Steve at the bank and they opened a joint bank account, Steve flirting with him the whole time they were under the scrutiny of the tellers, crooning about how what was his was now Eddie’s too. Something that made Eddie’s eye twitch if he thought about it too hard.

Today it seems it will be more of the same. 

As instructed, after his boss’ noon meeting, Eddie finishes up everything he needs to do and meets Steve at his apartment.

Arriving promptly, he takes the elevator up to his floor, where Steve lets him in, greeting him warmly, as if this afternoon is a distant memory - and maybe it is, but still Eddie is wary - until he sees that they aren’t alone.

He looks at Steve for clarification as to why there’s another man here, and he doesn’t miss a beat, diplomatically introducing. “Eddie, this is Johnathan. Nancy’s boyfriend.” 

Eddie does a double take. “Nancy as in, Nancy Wheeler?” He asks.

Steve doesn’t sound happy about it, although he’s smiling. “Yes.” 

Eddie glances back at the other man, telling him. “Um, hello.” So as not to be rude.

“Hi.” Johnathan gives an awkward wave with one hand, his other setting down a mug of coffee onto a coaster that rests on Steve’s expensive coffee table.

Then Johnathan stands. “Now that you’re here, I’m gonna go finalize the set-up.” He disappears from the living room at his words, heading to another area of the penthouse.

Eddie watches him go before glancing at Steve with concern and asking “Why is your ex’s girlfriend’s boyfriend here, and what is he setting up?” 

“Johnathan’s a photographer.” Steve explains to him, begrudgingly admitting. “The best, actually.” 

Then his voice lowers as he continues. “He’s also discreet. No investigative prodding like you might get with his romantic counterpart.” The jab comes so naturally even as he bulldozes past it. 

“I figured, since we needed to take some pictures, that he would be a good bet.” Steve rubs the back of his neck.

“Pictures.” Eddie repeats.

“For the engagement announcement. Or…whatever else we might need them for.” He looks meaningfully at Eddie. “I thought we’d start with some formal staged pictures here? And then get some candid photos at our usual date spots?” 

Oh.

Eddie understands. “Right. Of course. And Johnathan is the best. Makes sense.”

Steve briefly looks exhausted before he carefully smoothes his face over. “I-I didn’t hear what you said. But, nod? If we’re good?” 

Eddie nods. 

Steve nods too. “Okay. Good. Uh, come with me, please.” 

Eddie can’t remember the last time Steve said ‘please’ to him…Actually, well, he’d gotten a sarcastic one with his proposal…but a genuine please? It’s…strange.

Nonetheless Eddie follows as Steve leads him to his office. Inside there are three racks of clothes tucked to the side. When Eddie goes to peruse through them, he’s surprised. “These are mine.” He says in confusion. 

Steve nods. “Your bandmate Gareth had a spare key.” Steve had made some calls. Some assumptions too, figuring if his best friend had full access, that maybe… “I though that authentic would be better.” 

Eddie takes him in for the first time then - his soft looking yellow pullover and jeans. Is this who he is? Authentically?

“I’ll make sure you have one of your own. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.” Eddie tells him. Simple enough. This was the man he was supposed to marry - and if nothing else, con aside, there was trust between them. Steve had admitted that he trusted Eddie, and Eddie, in his own way, trusted Steve too.

Not to mention that Eddie had had unfettered access to Steve’s apartment for years. What was a little reciprocation, in light of that?

Eddie leaves it at that, attention elsewhere as he starts combing through the racks, sweetened by his getting to choose. Eventually he decides he wants to dress up, just a little bit. 

Settling on black once again, it’s a softer version of his usual style. 

A nice belt with a simple silver buckle, to accompany a pair of high waisted jeans that are free of rips or blemishes, and a shirt with a low cut that exposes his collarbones and some of the skin of his chest, a peak of a tattoo, the black fabric interrupted by an occasional floral pattern or rose composed of an orangish-red or cream color. 

Satisfied with his find - Eddie disappears to go change, before rejoining Steve, his hands fidgeting with his hair. 

“Up or down?” He asks, and Steve, who had been staring at him - lips parted - seems to snap out of it. Gesturing for Eddie to stay still before he steps into his personal bubble.

Hello.

He gently takes a handful of Eddie’s hair, winding and unwinding and unraveling it in and around his palms - before he manipulates it into a makeshift hairdo, trying to get a feel for whether it should be pulled out of Eddie’s face or left down.

“Hm…up. You have such a pretty neck.” Steve’s lips are hinting at a smile, and Eddie wishes he had chosen for him to leave it down - because said neck is currently flushing at the compliment and Eddie knows Steve can see it.

What the hell?

Then Eddie notices Johnathan, lingering in the doorway and pretending to still be adjusting his camera settings, and he feels as though he’s had his veins dipped in ice water.

Right. This wasn’t real. Steve didn’t really like his neck or find him pretty. It was all a performance. 

And Eddie’s a performer. He can do this. Playing along, he grins back at Steve, showing too much teeth. “You know your sweet talking gets me all riled up, big boy.”

Steve looks…elated. “You promise?”

Jesus H. Christ.

A weak chuckle, and Eddie bats him away before gathering his hair in his own hands, pulling it up high, trying to sort the smaller pieces into something artfully messy.

Steve lingers, fingers twitching like he wants to intervene, but lets him be, still looking at Eddie even as he angles his body and asks Johnathan, “Where do you want us?”

Series Masterlist Next Part: Part 6 Previous Part: Part 4

[bogwitchfanficdump]

Scary? My God, You're Divine

Prologue

Word Count: 724

Once Oswald Cobblepot was released, it wasn't a far stretch of the imagination to expect a visit. What you hadn't expected was the fact that he visited personally.

Oswald Cobblepot x GN Reader

Tags: slow burn, allies to lovers

A/N: I've been playing with this idea ever since I finished Gotham. Takes place shortly after the series finale. Art in the collage is not mine, all pictures found on Pinterest. I hope y'all enjoy!

---

After the unification with the mainland and the subsequent arrest of Oswald Cobblepot and Edward Nygma, Gotham experienced a power vacuum. The Narrows were in ruins, anarchy ruling in the streets Lee had fought to protect - it broke your heart.

It was never in your nature to stand by and allow a problem to go unsolved. The connections you acquired in your time under The Doc proved invaluable; under your careful gaze, the Narrows were tamed once again. You ruled firmly, but fairly, and as such, you'd gained a fair bit of attention.

Once Cobblepot was released, it wasn't a far stretch of the imagination to expect a visit. What you hadn't expected was the fact that he visited personally.

He and his men stuck out like sore thumbs, entering your office in pressed suits and followed by the crisp scent of cologne. Oswald himself looked like he'd stepped in from another world - it was hard to imagine him in the dense alleys and wrecked buildings that you called home.

You stepped behind your desk with a cordial smile. You'd decorated your office minimally, covering the shoddy walls with tapestries and letting the light pour in through drawn curtains. The floorboards creaked under your steps as you ushered them inside. Two of your most loyal men stood by the door; it never hurt to have a bit of muscle in the room. It would have looked foolhardy not to, even out of trust.

You had nothing to fear, and the realization calmed your nerves. As infamous as the Penguin's temper was, you knew your way around plenty of people with short fuses. You also knew to keep your activity strictly away from the territory that had once been his, while other fools decided to lay claim over what they wanted, operating under the delusion that the Penguin would simply retire to a life of golfing after spending ten years in Blackgate. Yes, you knew you'd done nothing to warrant that legendary temper. A question arose in your mind, but you banished it as Oswald cleared his throat.

"I must say," he began, "that the recent developments I've seen here perplex me." As he spoke, he paced with the aid of his cane. The brim of his top hat obscured his face and his voice, while polite, betrayed a sort of annoyance, like the act of standing in this building was making his skin crawl. "The Narrows sit squarely under your thumb, yet you collect no protection money."

He finally stopped in front of your desk, finding your gaze and seizing it with the most minuscule twitch of his mouth. Behind his monocle, you could see traces of scar tissue.

He gripped his cane with both hands, one black glove clasped over the other. The leather makes the smallest noise against itself and you made sure to keep your breathing even. "Are you sure you haven't benefited from my absence?" he said frostily.

Your brow furrowed as you answered, "I collect no protection money because these people are starving. I only request that they contribute however they can."

His rebuttal was swift. "I suppose they give you information?" he said through clenched teeth. They glinted from behind his halfway concealed sneer, and although you couldn't see them, you knew his knuckles were white.

"Mr. Cobblepot," you said evenly, "my word is my bond. When I say that you have nothing to fear from me, I mean it sincerely. I have no desire to make an enemy out of you."

There was the briefest moment before a tight smile spread across his face. "No one should want me as their enemy," he preened, before the smile disappeared. He took a vindictive step forward. His gaze was electrifying, but where others might have squirmed, you simply smiled.

"Welcome back," you said, "Gotham needs order, and you'll be the one to bring it." Your heart beat a little quicker, but not from nerves.

The glint in his eyes shifted to something much more impenetrable, and he turned sharply on his good leg. "You'll be hearing from me," he muttered, rigidly leaving your makeshift office as if he couldn't stand to be there for another second. His men followed close behind, and like that, he was gone.

A silence hung in the room as you sunk back into your armchair, smiling faintly.

Interesting. Very interesting.

[writingsbyzuzu]

high enough

two - exile/cold cold cold

notes: i bet y'all didn't think i would come so soon with the baseball bat of angst for your kneecaps, did you?

warnings: confrontations. a lot of them. Panic attack, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of alcohol but nothing is drank yet, angst.

Sure to your word, you were helping Annie pick out her new top, the two of you unable to bring back up what had happened an hour prior, feeling in absolute shock.

As Annie tried on the tops, you sat on a bench across from her dressing room door. Your phone buzzes.

eth 🥊❤️‍🔥: did you pick it up for me

you: yes sir! get it to you tomorrow :)

eth 🥊❤️‍🔥: you're a peach, trouble. where would i be w/o you

you: probably dead

eth 🥊❤️‍🔥: ha! love ya

eth 🥊❤️‍🔥: see u tomorrow trouble

You smile at your phone, staring at the screen as Annie comes out from the changing room. "Hey, just tell him you love him and want him to bone you so you can finally give me your attention," she teases. You look up, putting your phone away. "Girl, you look hot," you tell Annie.

Annie grins, doing a twirl. "It's sexy, dude, I think I have to get it. Wear it on our next club excursion." You groan. "Ans, we haven't been to the club in a year," you whine. "That's because you're spending too much time with a certain blonde boss."

"Okay, okay, pinkie promise, the next time I get a night free, we are going, and you can hold me to that."

She nods, reentering the changing room to put back on her actual shirt.

Ethan's manager was by all accounts, a serious dude. Ethan had a really hard time getting along with him at points, but for the most part, he was the reason Ethan had gotten so far in his career, he thinks. Well. One of two reasons.

But Ethan didn't want to do his manager's plan today.

"I'm not doing it, Jerry," he pushes the papers back across towards his manager, his chest tightening with nerves.

"I can't do it. I won't do it."

Jerry shakes his head. "Me and Rebecca think this is the best course of action for you. It'll make you look better for publicity, especially if you win the match."

"I can't do it," Ethan repeats, putting his head in his hands.

"Why not?"

"You know why," Ethan murmurs.

It didn't matter in the end. He had to do it.

You walk into Ethan's kitchen the next morning, clipboard and phone in hand, bag from fancy store in tow. He's sitting at his kitchen island again, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth off a plate loaded with them. "Morning Eth!"

He looks up at you, still chewing. He swallows quickly, grinning at you. "Good morning trouble." His eyes watch you approach, dropping the clothing back on the seat next to him. "One clothing pick up, as requested," you chirp, swiping a strawberry off his plate.

"What's on the agenda today?"

"Press interview, practice, and then we have to go to the stadium to film some promo shit, you know how it is," you smile.

He's staring at you, and his eyes are filled with some look you don't quite recognize, almost...nervous and sad.

"Ethan, are you okay?" You tilt your head, staring back. "You don't look so good."

His face shifts to an expression of uneasiness.

"Listen, trouble, I have to tell you something." Ethan fidgets with the fork, unable to look at you suddenly, before continuing. "I care about you, a lot, and I..."

He trails off, and your stomach tightens in knots. Oh god. What could he possibly say next?

Jerry comes in, his permanent scowl dark as ever. He turns to you. "Oh good, you're here. We need to hurry to get to the interview on time. Go call the cab," he barks at you. You nod, leaving the kitchen quickly. You and Jerry never quite got along.

After the cab is called, you're waiting in the front hall for Ethan and Jerry, who were discussing god only knows what (probably interview questions), and for Ethan to get changed.

What was Ethan possibly going to say to you? You think you knew. Probably that he figured out your feelings for him and was going to send you straight to the friend zone. Or worse yet, the boss at a distance zone. A part of you felt like dying from embarrassment. This is what you get, you suppose, for falling in love with him.

The cab pulls up, so you yell out for its arrival. Jerry exits the house first, and you go to follow. As you're partially out the door, Ethan yanks you on your elbow back a few steps.

"Trouble, I really need to talk to you, it's serious."

"Ethan, as my boss, I respect you, but Jerry is also my boss and if our asses are not in that car in the next minute, my ass is going to be handed to me. Please."

You hurry to the car, Ethan sighing exasperated.

He never gets a chance to tell you in private.

Jerry had all but banned him from speaking, but he couldn't let you sit in the dark and find out the hard way. He couldn't let you misunderstand the situation for a second.

But Jerry had stopped him. It was like Jerry was hanging around every moment he could, preventing you and Ethan from even having a moment alone together.

An hour before the match, Ethan finally has his moment of opportunity. You had been asked to fetch him his water, the most common task asked of you since Ethan hired you, and it's there in his dressing room, finally alone, that he gets both his drink and his moment.

"Here's your drink, Eth."

He takes it from you, his fingers covering your own and brushing them. And so, like he does every time he gets his drink, he says his line. "When I get to the pearly gates, I hope the first thing I hear is you telling me you got me my drink."

There's no smile on his face, this time, however.

"Say, trouble, I've been trying to tell you what I wanted to all week."

You open your mouth to speak, but he shakes his head. "Let me talk first, and then you can speak, okay? I don't think I have much time-"

But at that moment, Jerry opens the door, and all hope Ethan has of avoiding his impending catastrophe is crushed.

"Ethan? They need you now. Let's hurry up," Jerry nods at him. He looks at you. "Why don't you hurry on to your seat? I'll join you when this is done." You nod at Jerry, and give Ethan a big smile.

"Good luck out there, big guy."

Ethan tries in that moment to memorize your smile in case he doesn't see it again.

You're sitting in the usual spot set for managers and assistants, quietly on your phone. The calm before the fight was always the most boring aspect for you, a time where you weren't needed for anything.

At least, you weren't needed until you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You look up, staring at the largest bodyguard you had to EVER see, in your life. Which was saying something.

"Ms Harini Iyer has requested you come to her in her VIP booth," the man's voice booms. You scoop up your purse and your belongings, trying not to let the emotion show on your face.

Holy shit, holy fucking shit.

You're doing your best not to panic, following the giant man, dodging and weaving in between the crowds of people and bleachers, until you reach it. As the door opens, you see Harini jump up from her seat, bounding towards you. She calls out your name, before giving you a hug.

Holy shit, Harini Iyer knows your name. She just fucking hugged you, you think, and you feel confused.

She grabs your hand, dragging you over to the seats. "Sit," she motioned. So you do.

"I wanted to hang out with you," she cheerfully says.

"Right. You sure you meant me? I'm not famous or anything." Harini laughs, throwing her head back. "You might not technically be, but you're well known in the community. And the two most important girls to the athletes should sit together, I feel like. Shows sportsmanship, solidarity."

"I'm not- I'm just- I'm only an assistant," you protest, shaking your head.

"You're the most well known assistant. You do pretty much everything for Ethan Nestor, and fans love you."

"Fans love Ethan. It comes with the territory."

"Right, but it comes with the dynamic, too. You keep his secrets, you give him friendship."

You nod.

You see Damon and Ethan heading to the ring. You turn your full body towards the ring, watching Ethan's every move like a hawk. And Harini doesn't fail to notice.

"You care a lot about him, huh?" she asks. "He's my boss. He's in a tough profession. Of course I do."

As they prepare to enter the ring, Harini asks another question.

"But it's more than that, isn't it?"

The two of you stare at each other, as the match counts down to begin.

The first round is sat in absolute silence.

When the match was counting down, Ethan looked for you in your usual spot, but all he saw was Jerry and a blonde girl, sitting on the bench. Ethan felt like he was going to puke. Did you find out already?

As if reading his mind, Damon speaks. "If you're looking for your trouble, she's with my girlfriend."

Ethan snaps his head back. Sure enough, he sees you in the VIP booth, talking to a popstar.

What the hell were you doing with her?

Damon wins the first round within minutes.

You're biting your nails, trying not to freak out. Harini keeps shifting between looking at you, and looking at the match below you two, as if she wanted to say something.

"Spit it out."

She blurts it out. "I know you're in love with him." Your head snaps, and for a moment you thought you had whiplash. Sure, it had already been implied, but to say it out loud?

"What are you-"

Her eyes fill with tears. "You know it's never going to happen, right?" Silence in the VIP booth, while Ethan's fans cheer. You aren't looking at the fight, however. You're staring back at Harini. She continues to speak. "I mean, he can't date you. He's your boss. Could you imagine the kind of scandal that would bring? People would think he took advantage of you in a power position."

You shake your head, your eyes filling with tears like hers.

"Harini, why am I up here tonight?"

Ethan wins his first round.

She looks out among the cheering crowd, before speaking again, this time not looking at you. "I want you to come work with me."

"What?"

"Work for me."

Confusion dawns on you. "Why?"

"That man relies on you for everything, and he strings you along, when he knows his career will block him from ever touching you, but he keeps you around, paying you, keeping you stuck like that because he doesn't know how to live without you. And I've done my research on you. I've done a lot of research on you. I know what kind of person you are. And you don't deserve that."

You sit in silence, but the tears don't break.

Harini speaks again. "You heard the gossip last year about my miscarriage? My last assistant did that. I'm looking for someone who can be a friend, a real friend. And sure, you'd have to actually do some work, but I'll be paying you. Twice as much as he is, right now. We'd have fun. Your career could advance, a lot."

"Why are you offering this to me?"

"Because you were nice to Damon and I, outside the store. Even if you didn't have to be. You could have been mean, rude, shit talked. Damon tried deliberately to be rude, but you...you just kept talking politely and gave a witty response. You're a nice person. And you deserve more than four years of pining and being a water girl."

At that moment, Ethan wins the match. Everyone outside the booth jumps up, screaming and cheering.

And then you're hit with the sickest gut punch of the night.

When the reporter gets to Ethan, he says a line you've heard so often. "I'd like to thank my trainer, Luis. My manager, my assistant." And then he freezes, and he says something you had had nightmares about.

"And I'd like to thank my girlfriend, Lizzie. Baby, can you stand up for me please?"

A blonde, well you could assume, model, stands up from the spot that is normally reserved for you. She jumps up, running over to Ethan, and jumps in his arms.

And in the sickest, cruelest fate you could imagine for yourself, you watch as he bends down and kisses her in a pose from a million romantic movies.

That's when the tears finally break, and you choke out a sob, while Harini lets out a gasp and groan of disgust. It takes less than a second for your phone to begin buzzing and chiming out the wall.

"You didn't know, did you?" Harini asks, putting a hand on your shoulder. "No," you whisper.

"It's like I said. It was never going to happen. And you didn't deserve to feel this. Think about it."

You nod, in complete shock, standing up in a daze.

"Do you need help?" Harini asks, motioning for someone to help you. You wave it off, rushing out of the VIP booth.

You're running around the various backstages halls of the arena, trying desperately to find a bathroom to puke your guts out in, absolutely hysteric. Your vision is blurry, and your chest is tight, and it feels like you could wobble over and just die.

You feel someone grab your arm and you lurch away.

"Hey, hey hey, breathe for me, alright?"

Damon fucking Jones.

"Woah, just try to breathe slow, do you need help?" He crosses in front of you.

"I need a bathroom. I need to puke. And then I'm going to need the largest bottle of tequila I can find and down it," you choke out.

Damon nods, before sprinting off for a second. He returns with paper towels in his hands, wiping your face of the tears that won't stop running.

"You need to try to breathe," he whispers. He does breathing exercises, and you do your best to follow them, until your chest starts to regulate and the tears finally stop.

"You okay? Must have been a nasty shock."

You nod silently, wringing your hands. "No one was predicting that. If he didn't tell you, that was fucked."

"It is fucked," you whisper in response. Damon nods. "That's why you should work with my girlfriend. You won't have to see him anymore, and you don't have to be in love with him."

You roll your eyes. "It feels like this is manipulation on your parts."

Damon's eyes widen, and he shakes his head, genuinely trying to reassure you. "No, no no, no. She was going to ask you anyways it was bad timing. Look, that was an absolute fuckshow tonight, hm? And I don't like to see nice people hurt. Harini was hurt. And now you've been hurt, and that shouldn't fly. You both deserve the kindness you have given."

You look up at him, and he smiles. It's nervous, but by all accounts it was genuine. He fishes into his pocket, and he takes out a folded piece of paper, tucked between his fingers.

You look at him in confusion. "It's Harini's phone number. Personal phone number. Take it. Even if you decide later you want to stay with him, I think you should take it. I don't know what she told you, but after seeing what just happened to you, I think you should take it."

He holds it out between his fingers, and you stare at his hands.

Four years. Four years built developing a friendship, four years of late nights, and early mornings, and phone calls, and lingering glances. Could you ever give that up?

Could you ever put this behind you?

You keep deliberating for a minute, but then Damon, looking away out towards something in the corner of his eye, leans in to whisper. "You have exactly thirty seconds."

"What?" you squeak out.

"You have thirty seconds," he gestures with his head, "to take this piece of paper and put it in your pocket before you are busted."

You turn to look.

Ethan is standing at the end of the hallway, panting, his eyes full of anger and disgust. "Trouble?" he calls out, taking a step closer. "Where were you? I was looking for you. What are you doing, what's going on?"

You look back to Damon, who cocks his head to the other side and raises an eyebrow. Ethan starts to come closer, getting progressively faster.

"Ten seconds or he snatches the paper from my fingers," Damon murmurs, and without hesitancy, you snatch the paper and shove into your bra, right as Ethan reaches the two of you.

"What the fuck do you want with her, Jones?" Ethan spits out, reaching to grab your arm. You shift away from his reach, looking at the floor.

"I could ask you the same, Nestor. What do you want with her?" Ethan's eyes wander from Damon, back to you, then to where you had just tucked in the note.

You had never seen Ethan look so angry. Ever. Not when a "fan" threw an egg at your head, not when Jerry yelled at you over a mistake, not ever. This was a different level. He reaches for you again, but you step a little further back. His eyes flash pain for a moment, before anger all over again. "What did you give her?" His eyes never leave you, and it felt like he was boring a hole into your head.

"Nothing," Damon lies, shrugging his shoulders.

"Bullshit, I saw something, what did you give her?"

"Alright, fine. Harini and her talked about clothes, and she wanted to know places Harini shopped from, but she left the VIP booth so fast, Harini didn't get a chance to give her the list," Damon sighs, patting your shoulder.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Ethan waits for you to look up at him, but you don't.

"Trouble. Trouble look at me. Is that true?"

You look up, and for the first time since since the dressing room, you properly look Ethan in the eyes, yours bloodshot, and tired.

Could you lie to him? Would you do that? You had never really lied before to him, not really.

And the answer slips out of you without even processing it. "Yes. It's true."

Damon nods. "See? Good match, Nestor. You really got me there." And without even a second thought, he turns around and leaves, wandering off to find his girlfriend.

"I was looking for you," Ethan whispers, "You weren't on the bench."

You aren't looking at him anymore. "Harini Iyer wanted me to sit with her. Can't deny one of America's sweethearts."

"What did you think of the match?"

You don't have the heart to say much. So you just let out a small "It was good, Ethan. Congrats."

"I wanted to tell you, I-"

"I have to go."

"Go?" Ethan asks, trying to get within your line of vision. But you turn away again. "Yeah, um, Annie needs me." And with that, the second real lie you've ever told Ethan Nestor falls out of your mouth.

"But, but trouble, we always celebrate together, and I was thinking I need to-"

You interrupt him, holding up your hand up to stop him. "Not tonight, Ethan. I'm sorry. I have to go."

"Trouble? We're okay right?"

He wants to do something, anything, scream. But nothing comes out. And there you were, continuously slipping out of his reach.

"Peachy," you spit out. Third time's the charm.

"See you Monday, Ethan."

And with that, Ethan is left in the hallway.

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Press Play - A "Kissing You" Drabble

Pairing: Frankie Morales & f!reader

Warnings: Sharing of insecurities, blink and you miss it possessive Frankie. Truly this is just a boat load of fluff.

Word Count: 1k

Prompt #62 : Caressing your lover’s cheek

a/n: Not SPECIFICALLY saying that the show mentioned in this is TLOU, but if I happen to reference a highly anticipated show premiering at 9PM with an unnamed actor on the same day that TLOU premieres, then it's just COINCIDENCE. Mostly though this is just a self indulgent piece because I am lucky enough to have friends that put up with my shit but I still question it all the time and I'm so glad I found this community that is equally obsessed and where everything goes. I love y'all. Happy TLOU Day!

Masterlist | Previous Drabble | Next Drabble

You’ve spent two years waiting for this day. 

When it had initially been announced that your all time favorite actor would be headlining one of the most anticipated shows of the year, you’d been excited. When the first pictures from the set appeared, just pixels really, your excitement had grown to a frenzy. And now? As you scrolled again through Twitter looking at the red carpet interviews and press releases and the first of the reviews as you waited for the premiere itself? Near hysteria.

You’re sitting on the couch, snuggled beneath the blanket, your filled water bottle and a bag of peanut butter M&Ms sitting on the table in front of you. A specifically purchased box of tissues sits next to them - Puffs, without lotion because no one wants lotion in their eyes when they’re already crying. The apartment smells like popcorn, and when Frankie appears a moment later, bowl in hand, he’s quick to settle in next to you, pulling the blanket over both of your laps. 

“Are you ready?” he asks playfully, throwing an arm around your shoulder. You lean into his embrace instinctively, nerves rolling through your belly. It’s a weird mix - anticipation and nervousness because what if it isn’t as good as you hoped.

You check your phone again, just to make sure it isn’t time yet. Five minutes. “I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be ready for this,” you laugh lightly, “but I’m sure everyone else is ready for me to stop talking about it."

Frankie’s head tilts slightly in confusion, eyebrows furrowing as you turn away from him. You queue up the appropriate streaming service in preparation, avoiding his gaze the same way you hope to avoid the conversation you know is now coming. With his free hand, he reaches to cup your cheek, caressing it as he encourages you to look at him. “What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know, it’s just…” you start, struggling to find the right way to answer his question. It’s always been painfully obvious to you that those around you are quick to be annoyed by your obsessions. It comes across as a bit manic, and to the average outsider who couldn’t care less about most of your hyperfixations, you know it can be a bit much. “Sometimes I just feel like I bombard people with constant chatter about things they probably don’t care about. Or I feel guilty because I’m basically forcing you to like the things I like without ever stopping to ask if you actually want to watch the things I do.” 

You throw your arms against your lap in frustration as if to emphasize your point. The show hasn’t even started yet and you can feel the tears forming in your eyes, a fact that Frankie doesn’t miss as he runs his thumb over your cheekbone to catch them as they fall.

“Querida,” he starts, voice gentle and soothing, “you know I’m not picky about what we watch, and you do not bombard people any more than they bombard you.”

You choke on a sob as you try to respond, “yeah, but no one really cares.” Your brain reminds you that time is still ticking, and you cough as you reach for your phone, checking the time again only for it to remind you that there’s still three minutes left. “Everyone just thinks I’m ridiculous.” 

Suddenly Frankie is holding your face with both of his hands. “You are not ridiculous,” he states sternly, and you’re looking at him now, your eyes locked on his at the seriousness of his voice. “Seeing you light up about something you’re excited about is the most beautiful thing on this planet, and if others can’t appreciate that then fuck them. And I don’t care what it is you’re excited about, even if it’s not something I understand or would ever watch on my own, because all I care about is that you’re happy. Hell, you listen to me talk about flying all day long and you never complain.” 

You shake as your breath leaves your body in quick huffs, and you reach up to hold your hands over his, keeping them firmly locked in place as you lean your head into one of them. “That's different," you insist. "You literally fly helicopters and that’s fucking amazing. This is just a dumb show that happens to star an actor I really like.”

“It is not a dumb show,” he repeats back to you with emphasis. “It’s the biggest fucking show of the year!” That gets you to laugh, and you turn your head slightly to press a kiss to the pad of his thumb. “Sweetheart, believe me when I tell you that I always want you to share your passions with me, because if others can’t appreciate them the way I do, then that’s their loss. So let me ask you again. Are you ready for this?” 

A smile forms on your lips as the excitement takes over in your mind once more, “I’m ready.” 

“Good, because there’s only a minute left.” A glance at the clock on the wall confirms his statement, and he presses a quick kiss to your lips before pulling you against him, settling you so your back is against his firm chest, arms wrapping around your waist. His head rests on your shoulder as you pick up the remote, eager to press play the second the clock strikes nine. 

“And you promise you’re not jealous of my obvious infatuation with a certain actor?” you ask as the last seconds tick down.

His lips ghost behind your ear as he whispers his response. “Never, because only I get to hold you like this. And later?” he continues, tone becoming more possessive, “I’m going to carry you into our bedroom and my name will be the only one on your lips.” It’s a promise you know he’ll keep, and a shiver runs down your spine at the thought. “Now, you’d better hit play before I do it for you, because I can’t wait for this fucking show.”

Masterlist | Previous Drabble | Next Drabble

[0alanasworld0]

Perseverance (Hakim Ziyech x reader)

Request: I was wondering if you could somewhat continue the storyline where they continue their tournament and it’s now ended and when Hakim comes back home, his wife decorated the whole house for to celebrate and congratulate. But now Hakim is back at Chelsea and is not as happy as he was during the World Cup and the thought of going to a new club, and the reader has to support his through this tough period ❤️‍🩹

A/N: I dont really do these but just so y'all know, I intended for this to a part 2 to Dedication which i have linked. I think it works fine as a stand-alone fic too tho so enjoy!

Pt1 - Dedication

warnings: none

You let out a breath you were holding as you took in the decor you put out, wanting to truly spoil your husband. The couple weeks apart felt like much longer and especially when you couldn’t be there for the rest of the tournament for him. Of course you were watching every minute of every Morocco match on TV and he almost certainly knew that you were supporting him just as passionately from home as you were while in Qatar. 

You bounce up and down on your toes with a smile on your face, excited beyond belief that you get to have him in your arms again, your wizard. You're startled by the ring of your phone, running over to it quickly and picking up Hakim’s call. The smile on your face only widens at the sound of his voice, obviously tired as ever.

“Everything okay, gorgeous?” he asks. He’s itching to hear your voice at the moment. He knows that he’s going to be seeing you in the flesh within half an hour at most but he can’t help it. He lets out a sigh of relief at your soothing tone.

“It will be…” you tease. You’ve been slaving away the whole day, preparing his favourite food and getting your living room in check. A small, candle-lit dinner is just what he needed to celebrate the past month. You hadn’t seen your husband enjoy football in a while. Pure joy and excitement on his face as he walked out onto the field, listening to his national anthem, playing with people who truly understood and appreciated him. It was truly the time of his life and for the first time in a long time, he felt pride and love for the sport. It all came back to him. 

The taxi ride back home wasn’t very long objectively but to him it felt like years. Your voice alone wasn’t enough now. He needed your touch, the subpar sound and camera quality of his phone just didn’t match the real thing, he needed you.

The second he sees his house and the taxi pulls up, he’s out the door and hurriedly grabbing his luggage and handing over a generous sum to the driver before speeding over to the door. You can see him bound over through the doorbell camera he had installed a while back and quickly get up, straightening out the dress you chose and running a hand over your hair. First you hear the keys jingling and door unlock and your heartbeat only accelerates when you finally see him. 

“Welcome home, my love!” you whisper, looking for his reaction as the nerves wrack over your body. His eyes flicker over the decor and food and he smiles at you. Of course you had to go all out for him. He expected nothing less of you. He closes the door behind him as quickly as he can and you both run over to each other. You wrap your arms around each other as tightly as possible, basking in eachother’s warm embraces after spending too long without. He loosens his hold only slightly so he can look at your face before pressing a kiss to your lips. He takes your breath away and you tilt your head slightly so you can deepen it. Before you get too lost in it, you pull away but his grip is still pretty strong on you so your forehead is still pressed against his. 

“You need to eat.” you point out and he chuckles lightly at your concern. He’s missed this so much. 

“One more kiss for good measure.” he clarifies, kissing your lips once more before releasing you from his grip. You grab his hand and pull him over to the dinner table. His favourite food is sitting pretty and waiting for him. It was a dish he knew took hours and he feels guilty for how exhausted you must have been preparing it for him. 

“Sooooooo? How’s my wizard feeling?” you ask excitedly, still buzzing from his world cup success.

“Pretty good, I can talk to my wife without the line cutting every two seconds and that dress…” his eyes trail up and down your form as you blush. He always just had to do that: make you all flustered and shy under a sea of compliments he would shower you with. 

“Eat your food.” you mutter, digging into the meal before you said anything else. He smirks at your state, the love in his eyes all the more evident as he truly took in the amount of effort you put in for him. You were always his biggest supporter next to his mum, his shoulder to cry on, his best friend. Never for a second did he ever feel unloved when he was with you. If only he could put into words just how much he adored you but alas, he had to do what he could with making you all nervous and hot under his loving gaze.

The meal goes over like a dream, your labour proving to be all the more worth it as you see his eyes flutter closed at the taste of the meal. 

“You and your magic hands! it gets better and better every time, i swear!” he exclaims. He’s given up on trying to eat slowly, now scarfing it down like it was his last. You can only smile softly at the scene in front of you. It may have only been a couple of weeks but you sure as hell missed his real life presence more than anything. You just felt incomplete. And now here he was: sat right in front of you, barely taking a breath between every bite of the meal you prepared so lovingly for him. 

Your wizard was finally home.

Although you’ve been ecstatic to have him back, a number of strange habits have emerged that have you mildly concerned. 

It was as if on instinct he would go to that beloved red no.7 shirt while getting ready for training. It broke your heart to remind him every time but it had to be done. You knew just how much his national team meant to him. The coach, teammates and fans that made every minute of play worthwhile. The people that treated his mistakes as only a bump in the road rather than the full picture and instead cheered for him. He felt like he was home and you completely understood how jarring it must have been for him to have to leave it behind. 

You couldn’t bear to remove the no.7 necklace he bought you. Sure, he couldn’t live that dream all the time but he could most certainly find solace in remembering it. The one time you did wear it with the no.22, you found the latter gone from around your neck by the time you woke up from your nap. And you only managed to find it weeks later on top of the wardrobe while cleaning up. You could only guess who the culprit was. But nonetheless, you continued without saying a word. It was a difficult adjustment. From being the pride of his nation and being a crucial part of their historic world cup run to being on the bench and still facing the blame for his club’s lacklustre performances.

“Princess, this doesn’t feel right.” he admits quietly. You look up from your phone to see him fiddling with the blue sweater. 

“Sweetheart…” you don’t know what to tell him. How do you comfort someone who’s been forced from their home and thrown back at the team that robbed him of his passion for the sport for so long. He had every right to feel the way he was feeling.

“I know that this is my club and I need to get over the world cup but I just can’t. It’s not as easy as putting on the other shirt and just playing. It’s like no one knows me here.” he confesses and your hands immediately move to wipe the stray tears from his cheeks. 

“My love, it’s okay to feel disconnected. It's only early days, remember? It’ll get easier with time, you just need to…trust yourself to move forward! It doesn’t feel good now but it’ll feel okay soon enough, I promise.” you finish your weak attempt at a pep talk with as tight of a hug as you can manage. You smile when he reciprocates and you feel his lips on the side of your neck. He certainly wasn’t in the mood for anything. Rather, it was a sweet gesture of thanks. It was undoubtedly what he needed before having to endure the bench treatment in about an hour. 

You both finally make it out of the car and go your separate ways. You make your way to your seat while the place is still fairly quiet. He makes his way to the locker room, trying his best to ignore the heaviness of each step. It feels like his feet are tied down with bricks. Or like he’s in the shoe shop trying on the Doc Martens that Abde and Bilal insist are the coolest thing since high fades. Yassine was not impressed by their taste to say the least. In the fade or the shoes. He’d really grown into the dad role come to think of i- no. that had to stop.

It was Chelsea now. Blue. God that stupid logo, the shade of blue, the number made him sick to his stomach but he had to push through. Time would make the separation easier for him.

You couldn’t really decipher the look on his face as he took his place on the bench. Obviously he was hardly overjoyed by the situation but you wondered still. Surely there must be some relief because at least the bread-dead fans couldn’t pin whatever this performance was on him this time. As the match reaches its final 20 minutes you can see him be called over and the linesman ready the manual substitution board for his entrance. You can’t help but feel a little excited as you see him warm him. He looks a little more lively now and you cheer along with the crowd as you see him take his position. Your heart is in your throat and the 20 minutes feel like forever but you’re proud of the fact that he’s able to alter the pace of the game with the few minutes he has. Unfortunately that's as good as things get. The multiple created chances go completely unnoticed by other members on the team and you can feel his frustration climb from your seat. Going from teammates that were livelyenough to pay attention to the field to a bunch of sleepers must have been quite the culture shock. The final whistle only acts as a slap in the face as the players all walk dejectedly back inside. 

Hakim is completely zoned out of Potter’s team talk. What was there to say this time? Was he made to seriously believe that everyone gave it their all? That the decisions made were sound ones? Sure. he does his best to be quick with getting changed. Finally out of the blue and into the red sweater he loved so much. The number and logo on it always brought a smile on his face, even after horrible days like this. He sits down on the bench once more just to take it in before leaving, smiling softly at it. 

He’s feeling a little better now that he’s out of the stadium but some of the frustration still remains when he gets in the car, falling into the passenger seat rather ungracefully.

You decide not to press him until you get home because the silence is actually rather comforting. At the first red light, you look over to see him almost knocked out and you’re happy with your decision. He needs a bit of time at least.

The second you reach the house, he’s rushing to fumble with his keys and get the door open. Finally it clicks and he’s met with the comforting sight of your shared hom. All squeaky clean thanks to your efforts. He bounds up the stairs with you trailing behind him and throws himself onto the bed, sighing out at the feeling of the cool sheets against his skin. He’s a little bit more awake now so opts to check through his phone as you get ready to start your night routine. Unfortunately for him, despite his earnest efforts, he’s yet again facing the brunt of the blame for the goalless draw. Typical. Every tweet is more harsh, unreasonable and condescending than the next. It’s almost as if these people didn’t watch the match at all because of course he had to be the problem. Not the 3 other forwards that did nothing to convert his chances. Although there was a fair share of comments pointing out the fallacies, Hakim was seemingly blinded to those and could only see the horrible ones. It was commonplace for him but it never really got less painful. He perhaps got used to the pain but it was still there. Those words would still circle around his head. They were still strong enough to nearly strip him of his passion entirely. 

Luckily for him, you’re there to pull him out of his misery.

“Hakim, sweetheart; you do realise that twitter is a breeding ground for degeneracy right?’ you ask, looking at him through your vanity mirror as you finish up on your skin care. You’re not satisfied by the vague hum of acknowledgement you make your way over to the bead and lay to face him. He’s still too caught up in reading the horrible messages to notice so you tap him on the shoulder, finally breaking him free of the trance. He smiles softly at you but his eyes widen at the small scowl on your face. 

With that in mind, he concedes his phone to you and allows you to put it on charge at the bedside table that's out of his reach.

“You’re amazing…” you sigh wistfully, running a hand over his cheek with a smile.

“Is that supposed to be sarcasm?” He narrows his eyes.

“Never! Just because a bunch of sad, lonely, racist creeps tell you the opposite, doesn’t mean that they're right!”

“There’s so many of them, princess… it’s too much.” he admits, the tears start forming again and you’re quick to wrap him up in a hug. It breaks your heart to feel the deep breaths develop into full on sobs but you know that it's probably best for him to let it all out. So you do just that. No words for a little longer, just a hand on the back of his head and the other smoothing down his sore back. Some time passes and the sobs slow back down into deep breaths as you wipe the remaining tears away. You resented the club more than anything for what it had done to him. But now wasn’t the time to display that so you go by different means.

“Remember when Bilal and Abde made you try on those shoes?” you reminisce with a growing smile.

“And the look on Yassine’s face when he looked around the store!” you feel him laugh against your chest and release a small sigh of relief. 

“He looked like he’d seen a ghost when they were advertising them!” you add with a small laugh of your own and your eyes light up when you both recall one particular line in sync.

“Freshest thing since high fades!” and you’re both cackling as you remember the visceral horror on the resident baba’s face. The laughter only grows as other memories bubble to the surface. Thankfully the smile on his face doesn’t dissipate even when it all dies down.

“I miss them, you know?” 

“I had no idea” you joke, whining when he flicks your ear.

“No but how unlucky must I be for the people who understand me best to be living thousands or miles away!” he mutters, dejected as ever. 

“Love, I think it’ll be easier for you to process it all if you just keep talking to me. You can stare at the jersey, watch the edits and hide that necklace all you want…” you pause to analyse his facial expressions at your revelation. He’s a little rattled that you’ve seen through everyone but he needs to hear this.

“Keep those memories alive, keep retelling those stories because they’ll always be there with you. I promise you that you’re gonna leave this deadbeat club but that’s gonna take time. Just hold onto those memories because what you have over there is special.” he nods with a sigh and you can feel the exhaustion radiating off him so you reluctantly release him from your embrace and you both quickly shuffle under the covers. He quickly moves towards you to lay on your chest again as he lets the sleep overtake him for the night. You take a bit longer to get to sleep as you plan something to lift his spirits a little. 

You reach behind you, trying not to disturb your husband as you send the texts.

Weeks later, Hakim is simply enjoying his rest day, with you peacefully snuggled in his arms. He’s been getting a few more of those recently and he’s grateful that he isn’t having to spend as much time dealing with the club and can dedicate more of it to you. Of course you were right. Time was healing and although he still missed the team terribly, there was comfort in the fact that he would be seeing them again. He wasn’t even sure of that this time last year so things were looking up. And talking with boards of new clubs was also a factor in boosting his morale. Teams that truly wanted him. He had seen it himself on the degenerate site: fans already making shirts at the mere rumour of a possible transfer. He was actually pretty hopeful about the future. Of course, he couldn’t have gotten this far without you being there by his side. Always reminding him of his worth. Always there to see the bright side and be his number one cheerleader when things didn’t go his way.

He’s brought out of his thoughts by the doorbell. You stir and attempt to get up to answer it but he’s there before you. 

“Go back to sleep, my love.” he kisses the side of your head as you settle back into the couch cushions.

He opens the door and mumbles a thank you to the delivery man, taking the parcel from his hands and closing the door. Once the door is locked, he turns back around to see you a little more lively now. He narrows his eyes as he makes his way over.

“Oh hurry up!” you whine as he sits down slowly, carefully undoing the wrapping paper. The way his eyes light up is so worth it. He begins to laugh again, the same way he did with you that night after the match.

“I don’t know about you but I think these babies are the freshest thing since high fades!” he reads aloud as you double over with laughter. It only gets better every time you hear it. The other side of the note goes unnoticed by you but thankfully he flips it over, eyes widening.

“What?” you ask, confused at the sudden change of demeanour. It appears he’s too stunned for words as he hands it over, hand slightly shaking.

"Brazil?” you ask quizzically, eyes widened like his as the smile on your face grows.

“We need to start packing!” he says excitedly as you both go over the details of the poster. You spend the rest of the day planning everything out, albeit a few weeks early but this was exactly what he needed. 

He couldn’t help but be hopeful, truly hopeful about what the future held. Things were looking up, he just needed to let time take its course. Especially with you by his side, he was going to be just fine.

About damn time, amirite? anyways this took me forever so i hope u enjoy, my loves xxx

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

Do y'all want spoilers for the time travel fic I haven't updated in two years?

Of course you do!

So here's how the entire thing will go if I can ever hammer it into chapters.

(Cut to spare people's dashes. Also, thanks again to @micchikureshima for letting me use our discord convo to rant this out.)

Meng Yao manages to get a meeting with Yu-furen (with Jinzu and Yinzu on duty, of course). It's the first time he's ever seen her from within the same room (he only saw her once in the original timeline and it was from all the way across the marketplace during a festival) and he is desperately hiding how nervous he is.

She gives him a suspicious once-over, which has him sweating bullets that he might be recognized as a Jin Guangshan bastard, so he is infinitely glad when she instead identifies him as "that shadow chasing behind Nie-gongzi at the last conference in Qinghe."

Yes. Absolutely. He will definitely take that over being identified as anything else.

He tells her that he does pretty much whatever his sect leader needs him to do, which includes going out into the field as a scout because Nie-zongzhu doesn't trust the Wen in the slightest.

Considering word is already out about the attack on the Cloud Recesses, she agrees, then asks why, exactly, he has come to Lotus Pier instead of reporting back to the Unclean Realms.

He's already made up a lie about his mother having spent time as a maid in the Palace of the Scorching Sun before taking him and fleeing for their lives when one of Wen Ruohan's bad temper spells resulted in her being the only survivor of her servant cohort. He was young, true, but old enough to have seen the kind of man Wen Ruohan was turning into.

Then he tells her his observations and theory that since the attack on the Cloud Recesses failed to produce the kind of bloodshed the Wen Sect wanted for their threat, it's very likely that, as their closest neighbors, either Lotus Pier or the Unclean Realms will be next. And he has already seen (and killed) some scouts from the Wen sect sniffing around the outer edges of Yunmeng Jiang's territory on the way to the Pier.

Yu-furen, absolutely stone-faced, thanks him for the information and orders him to leave.

He goes far enough that no one will notice him, then pulls out some cloaking talismans that don't exist in the cultivation world yet because they were cribbed from the Yiling Laozu's notes back in his previous run of this life. Unlike the usual silence or stealth talismans, which can only bubble a staid location, these can be pressed to clothing to make a moving bubble. It's how he was able to kill the scouts.

He uses one to spy on the Jiang and find out whether or not Yu-furen will take his words to heart.

(He doesn't go spy on her directly because he knows she'll have to talk about it with her husband because he's the sect leader, and he got more than his fill of warring couples when he had to put up with both his father and Jin-furen.)

The security patrols are stepped up within the next week, more frequent, with two or three guards apiece instead of just one. Not enough that it would look suspicious to the Wen, but enough that he can tell his information got through.

He's especially relieved when he watches Yu-furen personally send her daughter and son off to visit relatives in Meishan Yu, ostensibly because she wants them to know more about that side of their heritage.

As head disciple, Wei Wuxian has to stay behind this time, which doesn't help his nerves.

For the umpteenth time, he can't help but wonder what in the world Jiang Fengmian was thinking almost two years ago, cheerfully putting a fourteen-year-old in charge of all their combat necessities, especially one who even now still seems to be goofing off. The Nie sect had been backed into an unfortunate position when it came to Nie Mingjue, a problem the Jiang sect didn't have, and even his own promotion from assistant to military aide had come after the war had started, when he was an adult.

Whatever, he's not going to think about it any more.

He's got work to do.

Meng Yao spends his time focusing on laying traps in the most likely spots for the Wen to infiltrate, taking out more scouts, and other such sabotage, while quietly sending reports to Mingjue.

For almost a month, it looks like his plan is going to work and the Jiang will be prepared if the Wen try anything.

-----

Then he's woken up in the middle of the night by screaming, and sees the orange glow over the trees from his window.

Fuck.

He quickly dresses, grabs his hidden weapons and talismans and sword, and makes a beeline for Lotus Pier. He slaps on a cloaking talisman as he breaks the treeline, and is stuck just staring for a moment at how many buildings are on fire.

How did this happen?!

No time to wonder about it. He shakes himself out of the stupor and immediately starts looking for survivors, waiting until the soldiers and cultivators aren't paying attention to grab them into his stealth bubble and drag them to a safe spot.

He's not a hero. He doesn't want to be doing this. But he can't imagine having to go back and look his sect leader and young master in the eyes and admit that he watched the Pier burn and did nothing.

It's not lost on him at all that most of the ones he's finding still alive are children and very young teenagers, left to die on their own while the adults were more thoroughly finished off.

He finds Jinzu (dead) and Yinzu (barely breathing) and drags the latter out, having to soothe her protests by promising to look for their lady.

He drags out an injured and half delirious Wei Wuxian, who somehow finds the energy to mumble a thousand questions about the talisman on his clothing.

Then he goes back in to look for Yu-furen.

Of course, she's in the middle of the mess, Wen Chao and his annoying girlfriend gloating over the bodies of her and Jiang Fengmian-

-then Meng Yao sees her hand twitch and oh, hold up.

Yu-furen, stunningly, is alive, though she's not gonna be for much longer if he can't get her out, which is looking increasingly difficult with more and more guards joining the -gag- lovebirds and Wen Zhuliu.

Then a charred flag waving in the wind gives him an idea. He sticks a stealth talisman to it and charges the hell out of it to act as a distraction for what he's about to do, then turns around and uses another burst of qi a knife directly at Wen Chao's throat.

The asshole has the unbearably frustrating timing to move right then, but he still hits a target, the knife zinging right past his face to bury into Wang Lingjiao's, killing her before she even hits the ground.

Wen Chao, naturally, completely loses his shit and starts screaming orders as he drops to his knees to cradle her body, and Meng Yao runs like hell towards Yu-furen, leaving behind the cloaked lure flag to make people think the assassin's in the spot he's already abandoned.

He barely manages to get his stealth bubble over Yu-furen before anyone can notice, but they realize she's gone as he's dragging her into the forest.

Ha, let 'em search all they want, he thinks triumphantly, but the adrenaline euphoria wears off as he reaches the rest of the sect members he managed to rescue.

Roughly two dozen kids and teenagers, a badly injured Yinzu and Wei Wuxian, who are trying to tend their injuries as best as they can, and now a nearly-dead Yu-furen.

His time-melded body is somewhere in his twenties, and he's the most capable adult standing here. Damn, he really didn't think this through.

But that's usually how it goes when he gives into impulse, isn't it? Like with-

No, he is absolutely fucking not going to think about the Jin captain from his last life. He is going to think of a way to get himself and this sorry little squad of Jiangs somewhere safe.

Of course, Meishan Yu comes to mind. Getting around the Wen now patrolling the forest won't be easy, but he still has plenty of stealth talismans. The real problem will be managing to get there with any speed, considering all the injured.

"How conscious are you?" he asks Wei Wuxian and Yinzu. Their answers aren't exactly encouraging, but will have to be good enough.

Some of the kids are starting to look at him warily, so he introduces himself as a member of the Nie sect, who'd been sent to warn the grown-ups this attack was coming and had… partially succeeded.

He gives Wei Wuxian some of the stealth talismans and they split the group to make it harder for the Wen to catch them, Wei Wuxian leading one and he and Yinzu leading the other, carrying Yu-furen on a makeshift stretcher between them.

When they reach the front gates of the Yu Sect compound, the guards on the walls recognize Yu-furen and guards come to hustle the Jiang group in.

He, on the other hand, is made to stay outside the gate,

It's not like he really expected any different, being from an unallied sect, but the blunt snub still stings a bit.

He sits down to wait for Wei Wuxian's group to show up, exhaustion creeping up on him as the hours pass. He's almost asleep when someone clears their throat from the wall above.

It's Jiang Yanli, who carefully lowers down a basket on a rope laden with food. For rescuing her mother and the kids, she says before disappearing from the wall.

Grateful and hungry, he tries to keep himself from just wolfing it all down in seconds, with the wistful thought that he should have tried to get to know her better in that life before.

Night falls, he sleeps at the gate, and morning arrives with Wei Wuxian's group still not having shown up.

This can't possibly be good.

-----

Almost on reflex, he makes his way towards Yiling, stopping only to take an extremely quick bath and get -most of- the blood off his clothing in a river.

As he gets closer and closer to the town, the rumor mill gets more and more animated. Most of it is expressly about the sacking of Lotus Pier, but there's one that makes his stomach churn.

A bunch of little Jiang sect kids were tortured, possibly killed, just the day before, and the Wen are forcing some local laborers to haul all the sect corpses from the Pier to the Burial Mounds.

He hears nothing about Wei Wuxian himself, which is… well, he knows better than to hope he just got away clean. The man destroyed his reputation and got himself killed once to shield former enemies, there's no way he would have up and abandoned his shidis and shimeis to save his own skin.

Which means Wei Wuxian must be on the way to the Burial Mounds as well, alive or dead.

And Meng Yao now has a very, very difficult decision to make.

So, pros and cons here.

On one hand, they have a lot more of the Lan sect available to fight this time, and because this whole mess has started two years early and without the Indoctrination Camp (yet… he really hopes it doesn't get to the point that happens again), many of the sects the Wen had absorbed are still independent and could be lured to the Sunshot side.

On the other hand, that's a lot of people available to potentially get killed, and corpses would do a lot more damage with a lot less… casualties, he'll say, even though that's not the right word for whatever goes on with a corpse army.

And then, there's also the possibility that Wei Wuxian is simply dead, or that he can't master the resentful energy necessary to form the corpse army while still having a core.

Though if he could, there would be an entire army already waiting for him because Wen Chao had been stupid enough to dump so many semi-fresh bodies there as an act of spite.

It's not his business.

It is his business, because he'd been impulsive and gotten involved at the Pier.

Fuck, he has the worst headache forming.

Looking down, he realizes he has wandered close to the "border" that the Yiling Laozu had once made by positioning hundreds of corpses around the Burial Mounds. There aren't any bodies about right at the moment, but he can feel the resentful energy trying to find fissures in his qi flow, recognizing him as a potential tasty snack.

He takes a deep breath and focuses on keeping it out, and the pain in his head lessens enough to let him think clearly.

He decides he'll send word to Jiang Cheng -because Yu-furen is in no condition to lead and probably won't be any time soon- about the body dump and the possibility that there might still be survivors, and let him decide what to do with that.

They might end up getting a corpse army anyway.

He still knows how to make the butterfly messengers. It will invite some questioning if too many people see it, since that's a technique he shouldn't know, but he has to make sure the message arrives.

And after one more night of restless, uncomfortable sleep driven by nightmares of the war as it had unfolded last time he'd gone through it, he turns towards the Heijan front.

Towards home.

After days of travel on foot to keep from being noticed and a few unfortunate fights when he failed at that, he barely makes it three steps into the military camp before almost being knocked off his feet by a fierce hug.

"You're back, you're back- you look like hell."

He snorts. "Hello to you, too," he says to Huaisang dryly. But inside, his heart is suddenly full to bursting at the knowledge that his young master must have been keeping a very sharp eye on things to have already known he was coming.

Had been keeping an eye out for him specifically.

Meng Yao knows he should go report to his sect leader first and foremost, but Huaisang drags him off towards the hospital and kitchen tents, dead set on getting him stuffed with food and checked over.

"I'm surprised your brother let you out here," Meng Yao admits as the medic tuts over the condition of his qi from all the stunts he'd had to pull at Lotus Pier.

After all, Nie Mingjue had been adamant about keeping Huaisang as far from the battlefield as possible in their past life, burying him in paperwork in either the Unclean Realms or the Cloud Recesses.

"I'm really only allowed these places," Huaisang says, giving him a conspiratorial grin. "After all, in a kitchen or infirmary, I'm never really disarmed, right?"

Very true. Huaisang had taken to hidden weapons training much more readily than he'd ever taken to the idea of a saber,

and even Mingjue had eventually been forced to admit he was quite good at improvising. Their sect leader still tried to drag him out with a practice saber occasionally, but wasn't nearly as vehement about it as he'd been in Meng Yao's memories.

After he's finally released from the infirmary, he makes his report, and then… he's tired. Too little sleep, too much stress, and even if his core was much stronger than it had been in his past life, he'd pushed it past most of its limits.

"You're staying with me," Huaisang announces. "Until they can get you set up somewhere else. Maybe even then."

He's too fried to argue, but once he's collapsed on a cot, Huaisang clinging to him like a barnacle, he finds he wouldn't have wanted to argue anyway. This feels right, similar to how the Unclean Realms had started to feel like home.

He would like- he could see himself getting very comfortable with this.

But there's still a war going on, and he can't rely on the mere hope that Wei Wuxian is alive and able to figure out resentful energy channeling.

So, with great misgivings, he slips out early in the morning, before Huaisang's awake, to go present his plan about installing a spy in the Wen sect to Mingjue.

He doesn't want to leave again, not so soon after arriving. Mingjue looks downcast about it, and he knows Huaisang is going to be upset.

But there's no one better suited to the task. He already survived Wen Ruohan once when the man had been at the peak of his volatile madness, he's the only one who knows how to predict the unpredictable. It has to be him.

Changing out of his sect clothing back into the dull travel robes, he slips out of the camp like a ghost and begins making his way toward Qishan.

-----

The next time he sees Nie Mingjue, it's in the throne room of the Palace of the Scorching Sun. Wen Chao is dead, Wen Xu is in the pits of the palace, essentially being kept on life support after he barely survived a fight with Mingjue, and the corpse army is tearing its way across the jianghu, bolstered by the rest of the Sunshot forces including an undecimated Lan sect and all the rogues who've rallied to Jiang Cheng.

Unlike the first time this happened, Nie Mingjue is in on the plan, the both of them having agreed to Lan Xichen being their go-between (maybe they could end up friends after all... he could at least hope).

Unlike the first time this happened, the 'killings' of the Nie cultivators are carefully staged.

Unlike the first time this happened, Wen Ruohan catches his movement out of the corner of his eye.

The force of hitting the wall shocks him to the point he doesn't even feel the pain that should have come with so many bones fracturing at once.

But even if he didn't deal the killing blow this time, it's fine. He made a good enough distraction for Nie Mingjue to get his chains around the tyrant's throat.

The last thing he remembers before he loses consciousness is his sect leader desperately calling his name as he drops Wen Ruohan's corpse like a discarded rag and rushes towards him.

-----

He wakes up to the victory banquet having come and gone without him ever meeting his father, and he is relieved

He wakes to the realization that he has already changed an entire war so much that manipulating the political aftermath to an ending that benefits everyone but his father should be easy, and the spiteful little ember he has always carried in his chest finally quiets into smoke.

He wakes to Nie Huaisang clutching his hand, having fallen asleep in a chair beside his bed -"The brat only ever left you if I personally dragged him out,"- Nie Mingjue tells him with an annoyed eyeroll that is immediately disregarded for a fond, proud smile as he ruffles his brother's hair.

And Meng Yao thinks, for the first time in two lifetimes, that he is completely satisfied with the results of all his hard work. (THE FUCKIN END)

[onmyyan]

i humbly and respectfully beg for a crumb of Ricky content, i need more of this man (holiday drabble like his brother perhaps?) i love, love, love your writing and your characters!!

Ricky's heart grew three times that day.

A/N: Ricky is baby also took a different approach with this one because our boy is troubled but we luh him all the same. Also Coquito(1) is like this boozy eggnog that has like three different types of Puerto Rican rum in it and it gets you SLOSHED lmao my family on my mom's side always makes it around the holidays, do y'all have any fun traditions?

TW'S: Ricky, Yandere, he has the holiday blues, cursing, suggestive

Ricky hated winter. The snow in New York was brutal, he was always shivering no matter how many thermals he wore, and everyone got on his nerves even more so than usual. These thoughts were at the forefront of his mind as he stared down at the daunting message from his Father, the invitation to the Christmas party was more of a command than an ask and he felt his blood pressure rise at the idea.

Checking to see if you were still sleeping, his tired eyes raked over your blissfully unaware form and the sight pacified him almost instantly. He began to gently pet your hair, the soft motions self soothing as his mind became a battlefield.

While not inherently terrible, being surrounded by his loud extended family always left him with a migraine. Be it the judgmental tones and stares or the backhanded compliments, he'd be forced to interact with them, forced to save face and make his dad look good even though he was tearing them apart in his mind.

He hated small talk, especially with people he couldn't give less of a shit about. And his nature was far too blunt and aggressive to mesh with the rest of his kin, he felt the sneer on his face at the though of all the tongue biting he was gonna have to do tonight, and he must have been thinking too loud because you began to shuffle awake.

"Sleep. It's way too early for you to be up." His morning voice was shiver inducing, the tremble in his words had a smile curling on your half asleep form, the small kiss he pressed to the center of your forehead made you fully open your eyes.

"Mm but you're way more fun than sleep." You responded, nearly cutting yourself off with a yawn. He couldn't help but grin down at you, all tension evaporating from his body, his semi cold hand drifting from your waist to your own, had goosebumps rising on the skin, he smoothly interlocked your fingers with a content sigh.

He allowed himself to be swallowed by the peace of the morning. Waking with the love of his life was something he'd never get used to, far too often he had nightmares where you were gone or worse, all in his mind, then he'd jump awake with a pounding heart, only to find you peacefully drooling on his chest, the image making him fall somehow deeper in love.

"Why ya up so early anyway babe?" You asked snuggling closer to his chest. He'd have to force himself not to shiver when you began playing with the gold chain resting on his neck. He'd bought it to match with a necklace he gifted you on your one month anniversary, inhaling your scent deeply, trying to ground himself further in the moment, he took a second before responding.

"Dad texted me." He started slowly, as if not saying it would somehow negate his need to attend.

"Every year my Ma' throws this ridiculous Christmas party and every year I gotta go and deal with my whole family- it's a mess and I hate it." He all but whined.

"All I wanna' do is snuggle and watch those shitty cheesy movies you love so much-" he punctuated this with a soft kiss, "But nooo. Now I gotta play nice with a bunch'a assholes just cuz' were related." You smiled up at your grump of a boyfriend and tried not to laugh at his dramatics.

"Okay big guy- those cheesy movies? Yeah you love em' too don't even try to play with me I seen you cry and second," you sprung like a cat to sit up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his waist, he gave a wicked grin at the action, hands instantly finding home on your hips, "You got back-up this year, anyone gets too cunty and I'll handle em'." Sliding your thumb across Your throat in a mocking gesture, he couldn't help but laugh at the image, the cute little giggle you let out was contagious, leaning down to seal his lips in another kiss, this one much longer than the last, when you pulled away to breath he followed, sitting up and wrapping your legs around his middle.

"Oh you're gonna take my aunt Susan out back if she gets snippy huh?" He laughed against your mouth, his thumbs began to circle the skin of your hips sending sparks up your spine.

"Really though Rick, I got you. We show up, razzle the parents, totally upstage your brothers by bringing your mom flowers and then get home in time to bone to whatever cliché movie they got on TV."

His eyes softened at your very clear attempts to cheer him up, the action only further proving to him you were his forever person. "Come on ya Grinch. It might even be funn." You whispered the last part, as if a secret.

He sighed through his nose before interlocking your pinkies. "Okay but if I call it we're outta there you dig?"

The way your face brightened made the party suddenly seem actually appealing. "Dig. We can say I got the meat sweats or ooh- I can make myself pass out?"

The rest of the morning was spent in between the sheets. When you'd finally wrestled him out of bed he, like the brat he was, claimed he wasn't showering unless you joined him.

After your rather steamy shower he found his place snugly sat between your legs, his finger tips gently tracing your guy's names on your calves, you'd been softly singing along to the Christmas song thrumming through the morning air and gently brushed out his long mane. The ends got curly when he was fresh out the shower like this, the strands bounced around your finger as you began to braid.

He was practically drooling from the incredible sensation of your fingers threading through his scalp. It was as if you had magic in those hands.

He discovered a few things about himself that day, he didn't mind Christmas music if it was coming from your mouth. He also found the idea of showing you off way too good to pass up, sure his possessive nature usually didn't allow for such feelings but every year someone commented on his lack of partner, he couldn't wait to walk in with the most enchanting creature to ever grace the earth on his arm. He also couldn't wait to see the look on his siblings faces when they realized he wasn't lying and you were in fact real, he had yet to introduce you to anyone but his parents, sure the other boys knew of you, but Ricky is so stingy with your information, so hesitant to speak about you, they'd begun teasing him, as if you were made up.

You both looked to die for as you put the finishing touches on your look. Ricky was fussing with his tie, his nerves picking back up as the clock marched on. His brain was running faster than usual, running through all the ways it could go wrong, all the ways you could end up hurt, but then your hands slid around his midsection from behind, your shorter form peaking out to meet his gaze in the mirror.

"Hey, you okay over here? I can't remember the last time you looked this uncomfortable." His hands instantly stopped fussing with the undone tie, eagerly encompassing your own with his larger ones, focusing on the warmth you provided instead of the nagging anxiety in his gut was easy.

"I'm- I'll be okay." He reassured you, bringing your hand to his lips so he could kiss each finger. "I got you- I'll be okay." He repeated like a mantra, you smiled sadly at the taller man, knowing just how hard he worked for his Father's approval, you're not sure he even could say no to the man, turning him to face you took little effort, you cupped the sides of his face as softly as you could, thumbs gently rubbing his flustered face, "Say the word and we're telling your mom I got food poisoning." He huffed a laugh through his nose, leaning his forehead against your own, his eyes closing in concentration as he held you closer to him.

"Thank you Love." His eyes opened with such raw passion is took you aback a little.

"You're like my morphine tonight okay? No straying too far, if my creepy cousin says anything to you come tell me- who am I kidding you're not gonna have to I'll be right there." He quickly shook away his storm cloud and began running down his mental list of rules for a successful night, his usual attitude was back making you return his grin.

"And don't let Manny goad you into drinking the coquito*, he made it this year and the little bastard is heavy handed with the rum." He continued talking while you began to fix his tie, the ginger not skipping a beat. "Ma will try to feed you until you can't move so when she asks if you're hungry say no- it is a trap." You snorted at this, much to his amusement. "I'm so serious- anyway my Pop's a real hardass, don't take his face personal I swear he just looks like he hates you." You'd finished his tie with a pat to the chest and he pressed a brief kiss to your knuckles as thanks, "-but he knows how much you mean to me and promised he wouldn't scare you away."

"Don't worry my love, nothing you do could scare me off." You said lightheartedly, walking back to your mirror to double check yourself as it was time to go, not knowing just how serious he was taking those words.

"That's good to hear." His smile would be so genuine you'd completely miss the dark look in his eye.