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riridontneedya · 2 years

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What's mine isn't yours ....

Well! here it is !! After much debate over a title shout out to the absolute babe @notyour-valentine who came up with it! love you lots like jelly tots . Also all the love to the kind @runnning-outof-time who also gave me a fantastic suggestion . Honestly thats why its so late up I went from nothing to spending most the day agonising over my choices hahaha anyway I'm so grateful :) x

Pairing: Tommy x Y/n x Micheal

Summary: Female reader finds herself frustrated with Tommys dismissive behaviour. She sets out to harmlessly achieve a reaction from Tommy with no intention of pursuing these ventures ... however things take a turn when there's a different tone with Micheal

Word count : 3,700

Warnings : Would you like some plot to go with that smut ;) .

A/n: PS! let me know if you'd like a sort of "series" from this .. I can create wee back stories developing more on how each relationship came to be .. if you're interested . I could also make the reader gravitate to your chosen beau or change her tune entirely ! either way let me know & Shout again to the gorgeous lot who helped with the title and support! means the absolute world! Do not hesitate to give me feedback if you wish etc , always happy to hear you guys thoughts and opinions! I really hope you enjoy it xx

Pss: @mrkdvidal1989 loving the honesty haha , here's your wee tag now its completed :) x

The saying goes.. ‘To any action there is always an opposite and equal reaction’ at least according to Newtons theory. Alas y/n was eager to put it to the test tonight. If everything were to go according to plan her actions would solicit the exact reaction she wanted from Tommy. Y/n knew she had to be sly yet subtle .. As Tommy always had a knack for being 10 steps ahead of you. As well as that he seldom rewarded bad behaviour so ,any deliberate frivolous displays of defiance would land her a much longer sentence of silent treatment. This behaviour was not uncommon for Tommy but y/n grew tiresome off his broody spells and lack of communication .. leaving her pining for his attention .. his touch. It had gone on long enough and y/n was ready to play her own games. Y/n gazed over at the numerous articles of clothing littered across the bed. To say she had nothing to wear would be utterly untrue as to fill the void of his absence Tommy always adorned her with the latest ,lavish Parisian fashions and glittering jewels. She had an absolute abundance of choice.. its was just that none of them had that certain je ne sais quoi .If she wore something far too extravagant Tommy would notice immediately ..have her return home at once and demand she tell him who else she was fucking. As toxic as it may seem she needed him riled up not fuelled with explosive anger.

Almost ready to settle for a rather lack lustre dress, y/ns eye caught a ribbon peaking from amongst the hoards of clothes. Immediately she yanked onto it revealing her beloved old corset. With all her new garments she had simply forgotten about this.. it was her absolute favourite Tommys too for sometime.. it was perfect. It was simple yet effective not to garish and with the correct accessories it would surely do the trick. Feeling triumphant with her choice in outfit and hair and makeup done accordingly she was ready to make he way to the Garrison. Y/ns heels echoed along the cobbled street as she headed towards the door . With force she pushed the door open expecting it to be filled to the brim with the usual unscrupulous men , with the usual raucous laughter, and the usual billows of smoke homogenising with the unmistakeable aroma of whiskey. In fact it was entirely the opposite ..music gently hummed from the radio, handfuls of entirely normal looking people dotted about quietly engaged in conversation and sipping drinks. However there was a rather subdued John sipping whiskey at the bar. Panic promptly swept over y/n “fuck” she thought to herself had Tommy just magically preempted she’d act up tonight and called the whole thing off or worse had there been bad news for the family.

Clearing her throat “John” y/n muttered sheepishly. His eyes rapidly shot up in her direction, then began to gloss over her body lingering at her buxom figure. As his eyes loomed over her corset laden bosom he couldn’t help the grin brewing at the corners of his mouth. Fair to say the outfit had the desired effect y/n wanted .. yet again John was quite the easy target. Clearing her throat again, this time louder he promptly snapped his gaze away flashing y/n an apologetic smile. “So ..what’s happening here I thought there was supposed to be party .. but” y/n gestured her hands alluding to the empty bar. “Nothing horribles happened has it John?” Y/n questioned as she made her way behind the bar. “Ey, nout to worry yer pretty head about , there’s some business to attend to first so its been pushed back a couple hours .. didn’t Tommy tell you”. Now what Y/n really wanted to blurt in frustration was “No , because that would require him having to actually talk to me”. But y/n knew better of course he wouldn’t go out of his way for something so menial. Instead with a forced smile she said “Oh dear, I must’ve just forgot”.

True to Johns word as they chatted away and drank the bar became progressively busier starting to take on its familiar formation. Still very much enraged at Tommy y/n had time to set her plan into action. Having plied John with large amounts of alcohol he was now much more aggressive with his flirting and y/n encouraged this , why …well this is because Tommy had an awful jealous streak he simply couldn’t conceal . Apart from everyone simply knowing better than to take what was his he still reeled at the slightest attempt of someone encroaching on his territory. Now what better way than to evoke a reaction than have him think he was being outranked by none other than his own brothers. If it appeared that y/n was being showered in attention whilst not actively seeking it yet not putting a stop to it would surely elicit a strong reaction. John continued to flirt making outlandish comments landing a playful laugh from y/n as she swatted him “Johnathan, behave” she mused. “Ugggh no one calls me that, you don’t hear me calling you y/f/n” he grumbled “True” giggled y/n “But I mean there’s nothing stopping you calling me it ,only my father does”. With hazy eyes John peered at y/n over his glass , his hand sloping towards her hand rested on the bar “Does that make me your Daddy then”. Y/n gawped in astonishment recoiling her hand from out of his reach.

Why was she suddenly so repulsed at his advances.. this would be harder than she thought .. with John no longer a viable choice she’d much rather call it a day than mindless flirt with the likes of Finn or Arthur. Right on queue as if he had a sixth sense Thomas emerged. “You don’t need anymore people calling you daddy John , you already have quite the brood of kids”. With a scoff of disgust directed at Tommy ,John knocked back the remainder of his drink and hobbled away from the bar. “Bottle of whiskey and 4 glasses y/n” instructed Tommy as he seated himself at a table with three other men. Y/n let out a hefty sigh and rolled her eyes. There it was the dismissive behaviour the mere acknowledgment of her existence. She doubted he’d even flinch if John where to mount her there and then at the bar. Tommys provocation had once again soured her mood, wanting him out her sight she set the glasses and whiskey on the table with a begrudging thud narrowing her eyes at Tommy. Without giving him a chance to cast a bland remark she spun hot on her heels and sauntered off.

Y/n heard her name being called from the other side of the room. Swirling around she looked to see who was responsible for calling her . There stood a suited and booted Micheal , fresh back from his travels, the one who this shindig was even for in the first place. His smile was broad and teeth immaculate. “Micheal! welcome back” she beamed , arms akimbo an offering of a hug. Being of similar ages the pair always were rather close and hugs were nothing out of the norm. However there was a different undercurrent tonight. It had only been a six months absence , and whilst he was very much handsome to begin with , he somehow became much more swoon worthy. His cologne smelt absolutely decedent to y/n and his eyes… oh how his eyes were a youthful and vibrant blue, a stark contrast to Tommys paler ones. Those stony pale blue eyes that were rid of the youthful folly and vibrancy but instead the eyes of a man who had seen many a things. Y/n cocked her head to one side and admired the man before her as he spoke. With a tender offer of his hand Micheal suggested the pair find a corner to themselves and begin to catch up over a drink.

“Hey y/n , mind if ask you something” said Michael. Y/ns eyebrow raised “Of course Mike” she smiled“ he edged painfully close to y/n causing her heart to flutter . He began to whisper “If I knew no better y/n , Id think there’s something you’re after from me” y/n felt her breath hitch. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes as he continued to edged even closer . Despite the full blown raucous party surrounding them at the bar y/n was solely fixated on Michaels presence and the atmosphere created between them. He was now perched behind her his hands snaking at her waist , head rested at the crook of her neck. As he gently spoke his lips grazed her neck “Just say the word and I'm all yours ,anytime any place”. Y/n squeezed her eyes shut his silky smooth voice and audacious words made her heart ricochet. This was supposed to be mindless flirting but instead she found herself warmed to the idea. Just then she felt the pressure of Michael’s manhood rested taut against her . “Look what you do to me y/n” Micheal purred against her ear further propelling her aching desire.

Now, a rouge gunshot or two was a very much common theme in the Garrison , in fact the wall just behind the bar often faced the brunt of all the stray bullets , however what was uncommon and quite frankly terrifying was who let off the gun. Everyones mouth hung agape stunned as Tommy placed it back in the holster as if it was nothing. In fairness it was his bar so he could do as he pleased, but him being a man of few words many would wonder what warranted it .. but y/n knew exactly what did she felt it deep in her bones. The gunshot had made both of them initially flinch but once Michael saw Tommy was the culprit he took a wide birth from y/n ,he knew just as much as she. “Is it that kind of night ey Tommy” came Arthurs raspy voice breaking the silence as he withdrew his gun. With this immediately several people took cover from a drunk gun wielding Arthur “Now now put that away Arthur , there will be none of that , nothing to worry about just my wife and I shall be leaving” there was an extra emphasis on the word wife when Tommy spoke and all eyes darted to y/n. Smiling coyly she scrambled to Tommys side. Her eyes quickly flittered to Michael who could only flash her a weak smile. Tommys hand now clamped to the small of her back as he ushered her to the direction of the door. Once outside he strode towards his car and got in . Not one word uttered to y/n. Following suit she opened the passengers side and got in.

There was an ominous silence that polluted the car. Tommy expression was undecipherable, he had a glassy like stare that remained fixated on the road ahead . Usually such boisterous behaviour from Tommy would warrant an earful from y/n .. however tonight she remained silent . Unsure where to cast her gaze she simply lent her head on the window staring out into the murky night , her hands anxiously contorting in her lap. She was eager to return home. As the car came to halt on the pebbled driveway y/n flung off her seatbelt and proceeded to promptly make her way to the front door. Once inside she immediately began to ascend the stairs , that was until an enormous thud startled her stopping her in her tracks. Once she sourced the noise she saw Tommy stood by the doors of his office ,arms folded tightly against his chest , he had purposefully allowed one of the giant doors to slam creating the god awful thud. “Im… im going to bed Tommy ..goodnight.” y/n uttered. Staring up at y/n his expression remained the same as that in the car.. icy .. unreadable. Suddenly he let out a rather sarcastic chuckle . Moving from his spot he opened his office door and walked in leaving it ajar behind him. Y/n knew she wouldn’t be going to bed anytime soon.

Sheepishly peering around the door she saw Tommy sat behind his desk , plumes of smoke pummelling from his lit cigarette. His eyes carefully followed y/n as she made her way into the office. He may have simply been sat at his desk but y/ns stomach churned. He exuded power over the room everything from his clothes , his demeanour and undeterred gaze could strike fear into you, his effortless dismissal of you always only made you want to demand his attention. If you happened to be one of Gods favourites and fortunate enough to receive it, it would be more valuable than gold itself. “So Micheal hmmm” he scoffed taking a drag from his cigarette. “Usually it's the blokes that are first to do the ditching for a new shiner version … but” he motioned his cigarette toward y/n “ Fair play” .

Fumbling at her words y/n began to defend herself “don’t be ridiculous , is not like that and you know it! Pssh you don’t even acknowledge me half the time and then you come out with that accusation” Tommy raised his eyebrows and leaned forward in his chair. “ Thats where you're wrong dear , I acknowledge everything that belongs too me and ridiculous you say , hmm what I find ridiculous is you thinking that Micheal can offer you anything he’s not half the man you think he’s cracked up to be .. but you know what they say about greener grass y/n” Growing frustrated y/n began to snap back at Tommys remarks. “ Belongs to you .. fucking hell Thomas ,wow whatever I'm going to bed I physically cannot with you sometimes . Its clear to see I’m only here when it suits you .. yeah I know how the saying goes…but from where I'm standing the grass beneath me is fucking dead”. Tommys whiskey glass halted midway to his lips , his grip was firm and his eyes were now engulfed with fury . “You wanna leave.. don’t let me stop ya” he spat.

“Be my fucking guest Y/N” As he flew up from his chair it skidded across the floor flooding the room with a shrill sound that set your teeth on edge . Marching towards the door whiskey glass clutched firmly in one hand he used the other to thrust the door open. Y/n could see that Tommy was teetering more to the explosive anger stage , rather than the pent up sexual anger so she wasted no time storming off in the direction of the door. Much to her surprise before she had a chance to get two feet out the door his free hand came down sharply on her wrist and yanked her back into the office. There they stood. Y/n pressed against the wall with Tommy inches from her. The tension hung around them like a thick smog . Tommys jaw was clenched his shoulders rising and falling with each ragged breathe he took. Y/n looked in adoration at the beautiful disheveled man before her , he was so close she wanted to reach out touch him, taste him. As she leant in to touch her trembling lips against his she was alarmed as Tommys hand came up cupping her mouth, his body now firmly against her . Immediately y/n began to protest but to no avail as all that could be heard were faint muffles.

“Shh shh, now thats a good girl” Her trembling body now pinned beneath him . “Open” he commanded as he removed his hand from her mouth and slopped it around her neck tilting it back. Suspending his whiskey glass he poured the remaining contents into her mouth, letting some of the amber liquid dribble down down her chin and on top her breasts. “Swallow” he rasped . Gingerly she gulped down the liquid. Tommy eyes now ablaze he quickly discarded the glass , and crashed his lips forcefully into y/ns as she hungrily returned his feverish kiss. Withdrawing from her lips Tommy spun her around pinning her hands above her head. Kicking apart her feet he now contoured himself against y/ns behind letting her feel his growing erection gyrate against her. A subtle gasp escaped her lips. “Oh so you like that hmm, should’ve known .. who does it better darling ey?me or Micheal” before y/n had a chance to respond he had a fistful of her hair interlocked around his balled fist and was began to tug “ ah ah don’t fuss now angel , you want to act like a whore then Im gonna fuck you like one.. got it? ”. Tommys words sent an electric charge through y/ns body , she came this far in her pursuit and wanted nothing more than to feel Tommys wrath explode inside her. “You better fucking Anwser me” spat Tommy administering another sharp tug to y/ns hair to garner her attention from her lustful haze. “Yes , yes Tommy” she whimpered.

“Good girl” he cooed as his coarse hands sauntered underneath her skirt , his fingers grazing delicately against her folds. “Ive barley touched you and you’re already soaking wet quite the needy little whore ey” as his fingers traced circles she could feel herself start to disintegrate. “Im going to fuck the thought of Micheal right out of your head understand ….you're mine and I won’t let you forget it” y/n let out a guttural groan as Tommy hook aside her underwear and began to ease two fingers inside her. It didn’t take long until his pace became unbearable and y/n felt her vision cloud over “you know its bad manners y/n to not speak when spoken too ! I said did you understand” he growled thrusting in another finger propelling them inside her at a rapid rate . Y/ns body began to buckle after the numerous orgasms rippling through her “yes , yes ” she managed to utter barley catching her breathe. Withdrawing his coated fingers he inched them into y/ns mouth to suck clean . Once she had sucked them earnestly he then began to tug at the lacing of y/ns corset unfurling it from her body and her breasts bouncing free.

“This !” Proclaimed Tommy wielding the corset in y/ns line of vision “I used to fucking love this , but now you’ve gone and been a whore in it , its hardly the same anymore … I'm not gonna give you a chance to pull another little stunt like this .. understand” with that he tossed the corset onto the roaring flames of the fireplace. Y/n gasped attempting to scurry and save it from its fiery demise but not before Tommy stood in her path. “Oh no you don’t on your fucking knees now” he ordered. As if spell bound y/n resisted defiance and dropped willing fully to her knees. Carefully unbuckling him letting his erection spring free she began to run her tongue from the base all the way up the shaft . This elicited a heft moan from Tommy . Truthfully y/n adored the sound of his groans as she pleasured him it coaxed her to go further and further ladening his member in spit as she gagged on his length. Tommys hands came to either side of y/ns cheeks , he gently cradled them before ramming deeper into her mouth causing her to cough and splutter producing tears down her face. Eyes hooded with pleasure he grinned as he removed himself from her mouth with a gratifying pop. “Such a good girl’, he muttered as he helped her to her feet placing a soft kiss on her cheek . ‘Hands” he commanded , unloosening his tie he used them to fasten y/n wrists together . Tommy motioned his he’d to he desk.. y/n knew what was to come next.

Y/n propped her top half over Tommys desk. This hadn’t been the first time he had her face down arse up. Y/n wriggled trying to find a comfortable position as she knew Tommy would show no mercy once he had taken her. She could hear his footsteps approach and eagerly anticipated his touch. Unsuspectedly y/n felt the warmth of Tommy tongue begin to lick stripes at her sex causing her to claw onto the desk. His tongue fixated on her bud it rotated, flickered and vibrated against it causing her to throb. She so desperately wanted to reach round and press him into her as she rode out her orgasm against his face but that would be impossible as her wrist were bound. He did this purposefully so y/n would be at his mercy as she bucked wildly shaking with distress at the multiple earth shattering orgasms coursed through her. Satisfied with the distress he had caused and y/ns trembling legs he lined himself up to her entrance.

With y/ns slickness he slid in with ease. Tommy moaned with ecstasy as he entered a resounding “fuck” spilling from his lips. His hands fastened at her waist and he began to pummel into her with vigour. The table shook and several trinkets and paper began to tumble off. Y/ns let out screams between pants calling out Tommys name “thats right , let me hear you call my name” his hand striking her arse. Teasingly he withdrew from her then abruptly slammed his length back into . Tommy felt himself getting closer so he picked up his pace for the final push. “Im going to finish inside you , let's see if that adoration he has for you is still there when you're carrying my child” Tommy rasped his pace now sluggish , letting out an ungodly groan as he shot into her. Collapsing onto her back the pair both gasped for breathe. Tommy hoisted himself off y/n , his contents running down the inside of her thighs. Combing his hands through his disheveled hair he cleared his throat and rearranged himself back into his trousers. “Clean yourself up’ he said dryly tossing a rag in y/ns general direction . With that he headed out the door letting it slam shut behind him.

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whatyadrawin · 1 year

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Michael Myers x Fem! Reader (Headcanon) 18+ only -First Fanfic Ever!-

Masterlist

Approximately 2, 195 words

Pairing: Michael Myers x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Mental health struggles, violence, strong language, strong sexual themes

A/n: No note, just read and enjoy and get ready for the final chapter, coming out tomorrow HALLOWEEN

Chapter 9

Halloween has finally arrived and the excitement about the party tonight is almost overwhelming, the last two days after the night you tried on the costumes were relaxing and uneventful which helped to make you enter a healthy headspace. The sunlight coming in your window was bright and cheery, you slept in today and feel well rested so you could dance all night and maybe meet someone cute to have fun with. You often went to sleep thinking of Michael and how much you missed his strange yet comforting presence, you felt safe with him which is so obtuse given that he is an otherworldly monster. It's been a while since you last saw him but the night you were picking costumes you thought you saw a shadow looming in your doorway, when you squinted to look it was not there anymore so it must have been a hallucination… right?

The morning was spent pampering yourself with a warm bath and a glitter bath bomb, a few hours of hair-care and nail work which made you feel like a goddess. Your cellphone starts ringing and you go to pick it up, it’s Deanna:

“Is *Y/N* ready to get crazy tonight?”

You smile “You know it, now how come you aren’t over here yet?”

Yesterday you had asked Deanna to come over and help hand out candy and get ready before the party, just like you did back in Chicago with your girlfriends.

Deanna laughs “What are you talking about? Oh shit I haven’t even left the house, I totally forgot!”

You gasp “Deanna what the hell!?”

As soon as you say that you hear the doorbell ring and head downstairs to find who else but Deanna, smirking like the cat that killed the canary. You hang up the phone and squeal with joy and say “Oh you asshole! HAHAHA! I was about to come to your house and yell at you!”

Deanna hugs you and squeezes tightly “I just love messing with you sometimes”

You close the door and you both head to the kitchen and you show her the mountain of candy you bought the day before. Deanna drops her purse on the table and gawks at the pile of sweets

“What the… did you buy candy for the whole neighborhood?”

You reply “You told me that tons of kids trick or treat in this town! I don’t want my house egged tonight”

Deanna purses her lips “Yeah but I didn’t know you inherited the goddamn Wonka factory! What, did you kill Charlie and his peepaw for their fortune?” You laugh “Alright, alright, when I come back to work, I’ll bring the leftovers with me” Deanna crosses her arms and smiles “You better”

The day presses on and tons of kids came by the house and you both handed candy to them and complimented the adorable costumes they wore, eventually the children stopped coming and the older kids showed up until eventually the doorbell stopped ringing and it was time to get ready for the party. Both you and Deanna sit at your makeup desk and get glamorous, heavy eyeliner, expensive foundation, metallic eyeshadows, glitter, and vibrant lipsticks made both your faces look Halloween ready and stunning. Deanna starts putting on her costume and asks you some questions:

“We better dance like crazy tonight, I am looking for someone sexy to take home” you reply

“I hope the music is good, I want to dance till I pass out…or at least until I meet a nice guy”

Deanna looks over at you and says “If I know Blake, the music is going to absolutely slap and honestly he throws the craziest parties” This makes you feel a wave of nervous excitement “How many people are going to be there?” Deanna squints her eyes and looks up “Uh, I think he said he got 92 confirmations and 32 maybe’s?” Your stomach flutters and you squeak “Holy shit, what kind of a party is this?” Deanna looks at her French maid costume in your mirror “Listen, Blake is well known for his massive parties and its always a good time don’t worry. If you feel nervous you can stay by me until you meet people you want to talk to, I got you hun” You felt better and go put on your costume and look in the mirror, Deanna gasps “Oh *Y/N*…you are going to give a lot of people heart attacks, you look so good!” You blush and both of you grab your bags and go out to the ride waiting to take you there, tonight is going to be good I can feel it.

You both get dropped off at the farmhouse and there is already loud music playing and a crowd of people hanging out in front of the house. Deanna takes your hand and you pass an old barn that looks like it hadn’t been used in a while, you see some really pretty women in stunning costumes talking to really cute guys. Once you both enter the house you see all the decorations and dark colorful lighting, there is a DJ booth in the far corner and a large crowd of people dancing with each other. You already notice some really hot guys checking you out and just as you notice a particularly gorgeous guy, Blake comes barreling through dressed as a black cat:

“Omg, there you guys are! Holy shit *Y/N* you look unreal!” Deanna puts her hands on her hips and says “*Y/N* is always a stunner, how about me? What do you think?” she spins around and twirls her skirt, Blake puts his hand on his chin and acts like he is inspecting an art piece “You look remarkable, and I think a lot of other people would agree… if you know who I mean” Deanna looks over at a girl in a unicorn onesie pouring drinks for a few guys “Blake, I got turned down by her once I doubt she will go for me again” Blake rolls his eyes up and says “I don’t know, she asked if you were coming tonight so… ANYWAY you both go get some drinks and mingle a bit, I am going to go find my boyfriend” and with that he slipped back into the crowd.

Both you and Deanna were having a great time dancing and talking with acquaintances from work, you felt so free and happy which you hadn’t felt since Chicago. As you danced sensually to a song with a deep beat you noticed that gorgeous guy from earlier before Blake came to say hi, this man had dark wavy hair and light blue eyes which popped against his heavily lashed eyelids; He looked at you and smiled gently, you looked down and blushed Oh my god he’s so cute, I hope he comes to talk to me and just as you thought that he started making his way over to you. The music was loud but when he got to you his voice was pretty clear:

“Hey, you dance really well do you mind if I join you?” He stretched out his hand to you and you reach out to it, he gently lifts your hand up to his lips and kisses it, you say “I’d like that” He smiles and you press your body onto his and sway together, he spins you around and your back is aligned with his chest and you grind on him.

Both of you dance together for a few songs and you tell him you are heading outside to cool down, he asks if he can come with you and you agree and head out to the front of the house. The crisp night air feels so refreshing and you both start having a nice conversation about the party and other pleasantries, he then says he is going to check out the barn and being the curious person you are, you ask to follow him.

The barn is dark inside but the moon and house lights are flooding in the windows making it easier to see, the guy is wandering around looking at the old tools and you look at the old hay bales in a stall. He then comes up close to you and lightly takes your hand and says “I really want to kiss you, is that ok?” you smile and say yes; His kiss is gentle and soft, you kiss back but then hesitate… you feel bad for some reason and realize it’s because of how strongly you still feel about Michael why can’t I get him out of my head!? The guy stops kissing you and asks if you are alright, you tell him you feel strange but you want to keep going, he asks if you are sure and you nod and begin to kiss again. You open your eyes and see a shape coming towards you both, your eyes widen and you see Michaels white mask coming close, and a large kitchen knife flashes a beam of moonlight on you both. You immediately stop kissing the guy and hug him and give Michael a look and shake your head, he stops for a second his knife raised ready to stab the guy and you pull the guy back away from Michael.

The guy says “Hey are you alright? We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do we can go back inside the house if you aren’t comfortable” Michael slowly backs away and you say “Yeah you know what I will meet you inside if that’s ok” the guy nods and heads out of the barn not even seeing Michael.

You stop and stare at him, his overalls were barely hiding his massive muscles and his mask had that unsettling expressionless face, you say:

“Michael, where have you been! I thought you left me, I looked all over for you!” he just stood there breathing heavily, you ask again “Where did you go? I …I really missed you” Michaels head tilted to the side, your eyes started tearing up and you ran towards him and hugged his torso “I-I needed you and you left me” Michael looked down at you his chest heaving, he seemed really angry and suddenly he grabs you and lifts you up against a wall, you can’t move and you get nervous “Michael, please don’t hurt me” he pushes up against you and slowly puts the knife to your throat but doesn’t press it in, the fear and adrenaline excited you and the feel of his massive body almost crushing yours into the wall was enough to make you wet. You let out an exasperated moan and you reach for his knife and slowly push it away from your neck, you can tell the other man upset him so you say “I was trying to see if I could move on, I couldn’t keep thinking of you since I thought I would never see you again… I couldn’t even kiss that guy ...I can’t stop thinking of you” Michael lets out a deep growl and drops you to the ground and backed away, you noticed an erection that was pressing into his overalls… it was massive. He walks away and before you could chase after him, he disappeared into the shadows of the trees outside the barn I can’t believe he’s back this dangerous demonic man was back and you wanted him more than anything.

You exit the barn and head back into the party to find Deanna but the guy you were kissing stepped in front and stopped you, he asks “Are you alright?” you let out a weak smile and say “I’m not feeling well, I’m sorry I need to get home” he has a worried expression “Is there anything I can do?” This guy was such a sweetheart, you reply “It’s ok, you were great, I had a really good time tonight but… make sure you get home safe tonight, ok?” the thought of Michael killing him was upsetting but was a highly likely scenario. The guy says goodnight and you go find Blake and Deanna talking in the kitchen, you tell them you are feeling tired and you are done for the night and you want to head home and they look worried:

“Are you ok *Y/N*? You look flush” Blake asks, Deanna pipes in and says “Do you want me to call you a cab?” You quickly say “No, I already have a ride waiting I will be completely fine I just need some sleep; it has been a while since I partied like this you know how it is” They both give you a hug and let you go.

You take off towards your house, you didn’t want to wait for a ride, Halloween night makes getting one take hours and your house wasn’t too far away so you start running home. I can’t believe he’s back you had so many emotions running through your head and you just wanted to get home, as you ran you felt like you were being stalked and you knew… he was coming for you.

#michael myers x reader #what ya writin #rz michael myers #slasher thirst #slasher x reader smut

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starleska · 3 months

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that is so wild he really is everywhere😭😭😭 i had an Awesome time at the party in fact!! got unintentionally covered in glitter </3 oh goodness i for sure saw that truth in motion 😭 one of my uncles has barely seen any doctor who either, so the other was loosely recounting the episode for him (i remember he got really excited talking about the toymaker's teeth) while also telling him multiple times that he ABSOLUTELY should watch it. so he is definitely a fan lol

ive actually been planning on watching some of the first seasons with some friends for awhile, but again, schedules 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️ HELP i think that would be a really funny place to start, it would be neat to see him in action (Not Counting my dream last night where he pushed me off of a roof and woke me up 👎)

HAPPYBIRTHDAY BTW!!!!! YAHOO🎉🎉

ahhhh i am so happy that you did!!! being unintentionally covered in glitter sounds bloody awesome 🙈💖💖💖 screams, that's so cute!!! the Toymaker's teeth are super cool, i'm so glad that he zeroed in on the detail...i was yelling at the screen when we first saw them, really freaked me out 🙈💖 OHHH yes that's awesome!!! 🔥🔥🔥 hey, take it easy - i've been steadily bingeing for months and it's honestly so very watchable, you can't help wanting to come back!! 🤭 YES please do i desperately want to hear your thoughts 👀 hahaha omg thank you so much!!! 🥰🥰 so sorry for my delayed response, it's been very busy over here!!! overwhelmed with all the lovely birthday messages 🔥🔥

#starleskasks

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calderskillday · 2 years

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A COURT OF FEY & FLOWERS EPISODE 4 liveblog!!!!!!

wow look at me go, watching an episode on release day???

omg lou with his sweater tied around his shoulders plsssss

lords of the wing reputation maxed????? damnnnn

OH DAMN BAD REPUTATION BRINGS BOONS

i truly love these mechanics

"we're beak-coming" STOP IT

a collection of trash 🥺

IF WE DO NEED TO MASSAGE HOB (EMOTIONALLY)

hob is to intervene 👀 in gwyndolin/binx's business 👀

oscar and lou hanging onto each other as hob recounts his side of the story 😭😭😭😭😭

NUDE ANIMALS ARE RUDE ANIMALS

hob and andhera is such a duo <3

omg gwyn trying to be fancy hahahaha

SURENA AND HER NAT 20S

STUDY IN HUMAN AVERAGES

lmaooooo gwyn has a human pet 😭😭😭

MARIE ANTOINETTE

oh rue 😔🥺

"you have everything to gain" AHHHH

LMAO aabria's energy change and emily's shock hahaha

classic lords of the wing entrance

OWLBEAR IN A PRETTY DRESS

so this is why rue is so drawn to hob 🥺🥺🥺

"marveling at the splendor of your new form" AWWWWWWW

CLOSE GRABALBA CLOSE

gahhhh andhera and rue 🥺😭

ARE YOU HITTING ON ME

god i love andhera SO MUCH

SHALL WE FIND A SEAT AND ~VIBE~

lmao wannessa is the audience insert

HAHAHAHA CHAOS

omg gwyn getting dark 👀

"i'm deeply uncomfortable" yeah 😭

omg is this how she takes on patrons????

WHO IS WANNESSA REALLY THO

LMAO RUE INTIMIDATING WANNESSA TO TAKE DRUGS AND NOW SHES IN LOVE WITH THEM

OMG BOTH GWYN AND HOB HAVING DETECT THOUGHTS IS SO TASTY THE ABSOLUTE DRAMAAAA

MY BETROTHED?????????? (brennan's reaction 😭😭😭)

INVISIBLE RING?????????

OH MY GOODSSSSDDD

ah oscar's glitter beard next week 🥲

#dimension 20 #d20 acofaf #dimension 20 spoilers #a court of fey and flowers #a court of fey & flowers #tl lb

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inklingofadream · 9 months

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So first of all: really liked the Rosie chapter! Unexpected POV, but so sweet. And I was sure until the actual letter that Danny had just learned how to make glitter bombs and wanted to dramatically share his newfound knowledge, I'm gullible like that. Second: did you have anything specific in mind when you alluded to cult member gifts that Jon hated or felt bad about liking? :D

Mostly the vague way that, generally, there is a point where a celebrity stops answering their own fan mail. Like, if 10 people write you, maybe 1 sends a gift, and that gift is probably something in the general cultural mode appropriate for gifts to someone you admire or have a crush on. A heart-shaped box of chocolate is weird, from a stranger, but it's probably harmless. If, assuming no hate mail because hahaha absolutely not they Love Him So Much, 10,000 people write you, even if the number of gifts only increases half as much.... there's going to be something weird. Statistically, it's safe to assume at least one of those people is concerning. Maybe they're a stalker. Maybe they haven't thought through their gift of, like, a home security system idk, well enough to realize that kinda seems like a threat. Maybe a live mouse, or homemade rattlesnake sausage, or taxidermy (why are all the examples I can make up animal related?) is to them the best gift one could ever hope to receive.

Jon doesn't get things that are especially frightening or threatening, because he's... kind of at rock bottom. By the time someone is high enough up to acquire an actual spooky artifact, they either have the judgement or the supervision to not send it. Weaponry is less threatening, since who would get close enough for it to be a credible threat, and so appears super rarely and generally in the same vein as the letter openers. But boy, would he get the weird.

You want Jon to notice you so, so much. You have the perspective to realize that candy, flowers, and even books aren't going to stand out. The quantity of these is part of why people stop going through their own fan mail, but the only people Jon would be willing to do it for him are the ones already doing it WITH him, and having your friends go through your vast quantities of mail while you do something else would suck. Cat toys/treats are only going to manage to stick in his mind with any permanency if they're REALLY impressive, and I... don't know what that would look like, after the jungle gym in his room. But maybe you have a really out there book. This is a good strategy to be noticed, but mixed reaction- some of the things he feels guilty about liking are probably books, but also someone sent him a book about Victorian coffee table art book of photos of Victorian hair wreaths, no text. A lot of people send jewelry, accessories, and maybe sometimes clothing. Mostly, that gets sorted into stuff to consign to the vanity of fancy accoutrements (marked by Sasha, in case someone from there visits. Thwarting Jonah is its own reward, even if Jon does still end up wearing gold and jewels), given to his friends or as bribes, or actually incorporated into his own wardrobe. Someone probably manages to connect some dots re: the band shirts, and then Jon feels guilty for liking one that Gerry didn't personally give him.

Some things never actually happen- Michael is So Excited at the new experience of Having Mail, and reads through all the rules and guidelines, thus alerting Jonah to the need for a message that says he only picks up mail every other week, you CANNOT send live animals of ANY sort without going through Jonah (who now has to be the bad guy about people floating the idea of cats neither he nor Jon want in the Institute :3c).

Sometimes more off-the-wall stuff is great, and sometimes they're all moderately horrified. I feel like Jon would have extremely narrow interest in weird non-spooky antiques. Almost always a fail, but maybe he discovers he's thrilled to receive... exactly one astrolabe, idk. I have a hard time seeing him excited to receive a bear skin rug, though, and the size on its own is enough to generate consternation.

The secret, best choice is expanding your definition of "candy" thoughtfully. A lot of stuff is going to go to his friends or be used as bribes, but having something weird that isn't available where you are is the best. Candy/cookies/dessert-aligned items are the safe choice, because the line between excitement and disgust is thinner with snacks or savory items, in my experience. Vastly expanded Japanese KitKat flavors, any given regional packaged cookie... that's the end of the list, the stuff I like in this category is mostly available in the UK, that's all I got.

And the Jon-guilt increases with the price of the item. $2 cookies from the checkout line are great, there is no reason to feel guilty, even factoring international shipping. Spending $500 on anything is going to make him feel horribly guilty, regardless of whether he likes it.

And the last category, the stuff that makes appearances on his shelves/person before meeting with tragic accident, is monogrammed items. Books with dedications to him go on the shelf because he has plenty of space for books and you can't see that without opening them. Most things with his name or a declaration of love or whatever that's unable to be removed from the item... almost always die. For some reason the image in my head is those collectible shot glasses you get as souvenirs? But on the reverse from the image of the city is Jon's name, a glittery heart, and an eye. It does actually meet with an accident, but after that he doesn't put anything that becomes dangerous when it breaks where the cats can break it.

#cult au #writing #asks #tma #this is so so long sorry #i just. am really into picking gifts.#ink post

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inkykeiji · 2 years

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i LOVE teasing in public. I know touya-nii hates it but like going somewhere and teasing flawless tomura???? Purposely bending over in front of him while at a bbq that you dragged him too or at the beach ahhhh (sorry im literally at a bbq at my friends beach house sitting here thinking about this, while wearing my cute lil orange sundress)

oh my gosh anon me too!!! flawless!tomura would fucking love this, and he’d absolutely turn it into a game of some sort.

he’d see how far the two of you can take it, how long you can keep it up before someone notices, before guests start giving you odd looks though the corner of their eyes or whispering discreetly behind their hands. he’d make bets, wagers, threats, promises; the loser must do this or the winner gets to do this, upping the stakes and the tensions to make the punishment (or the reward) that much sweeter.

because although tomura is impatient, too, it’s different than how touya-nii is; more playful, more provocative. he enjoys this particular challenge, and when he’s in the mood for it, he loves that slow build up teasing provides, loves the way it all escalates from these seemingly innocent touches—your hand sitting a little too high on his thigh, thumb stroking the muscle through the denim that clothes it, just an inch shy of brushing his balls; his palm sitting a little too low on your back, splayed fingertips resting at the swell of your ass—to borderline obscene actions—his arms encircling you from behind, grinding his half-hard cock against you; you legs twined around his waist, hips gyrating in the tiniest little circles that are practically undetectable from above the poolwater. the rules differ every time—often just slight variations of what they usually are—but there’s one that always stays the same: the person who breaks first, who dissolves into soft whines or needy pleads, with grappling fingers and gnawing teeth, is always the loser.

and if you’re at the beach, you can bet your ass he’s gonna want his reward to be sex in the water: out far enough that he’s neck deep, gentle waves lapping at the curled tufts of hair at the base of his skull, with his forehead pressed tightly to yours, scarlet eyes glittering in the setting sun as his sweet breath wafts across your damp face, commanding you to bounce, baby <3

lil side note: i love how u were daydreaming like that anon because i legitimately do the exact same fucking thing hahaha like poolside this is immediately where my mind goes (i also just really love pushing limits and semi-public sex hehe) <3

#LOVED THIS SOOOOOOOO MUCH ANON #u and i are one and the same hehe <33 #ugh flawless tomura is so sweet <3333 so disgustingly sweet <33333 #i hope you have an awesome day!!!#stay safe out there and please drink enough water!!#flawless universe #flawless au #inky.bb #clari gets mail

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xxxdreamscapexxx · 11 months

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Hahaha that’s a fair question - well we’re having Italian food bc that was the meal the Cullen’s made for Bella when they first invited her over and we’re making a red drink (sprite, grenadine, and ooze red candy squeeze & add in alcohol if ppl want it) and for dressing up, ppl dressing up like the characters lol I like the glitter idea lol

Oooo I haven’t seen iron jawed angels, I may check it out!

What are some of your favorite tv shows?

-🐨

That certainly shows a lot of dedication to the movies. I hope you guys have fun! Also, I can't really remember anything special in the way they dressed, but then again, I only saw the first movie, so I just picture all of you covered in glitter and that's final :D Iron jawed angels is such a powerful movie! It's extremely well played and written and I just love it so much. Oh lord... I love TV shows, but if I absolutely have to pick, I'd say "Penny Dreadful". That show has so much macabre beauty in it. I loved the writing, the poetry... I carry so much love for this show! It touched my heart in a way that no other ever has. Other notable favorites are "Wynonna Earp", "Killjoys", "Salem (2014)"... To be fair, there's plenty more, but I'll stop here for now. Do you have a favorite TV show?

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albatris · 4 years

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I have! a lot of messages in my inbox! I am not used to having this many messages in my inbox! please stand by!

#idk if im gonna get to any tonight im kinda flat today #also im dyeing my hair right now #also i sewed a skirt today #well most of a skirt #a fun thing abt ordering fabric online is that uhhhh #i saw it and was like oh hell yeah that's pretty #and then it arrived #and not only was it pretty but it also motherfuckin GLITTERS #like yoooooooo that did NOT come across in the preview image #hell fuckin yes #the point of that tangent was that uhhh #i was already feeling tired and creaky today but then i Did Stuff so now im probably not gonna have the spoons for More Stuff #thank u for the messages though im pumped as fuck to answer some of them!!!!!!#love u #hope ur all having a nice night ✌🏼✌🏼✌🏼#also anon who sent a message asking abt a certain oc #the preview was something something ''can you please tell me about.........'' and i was #NOT expecting the name that came after when i clicked through HAHAHA #fuckin absolutely though

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bodycountgame · 3 years

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Ok I have to know, what kind of wedding would each of the LI's have? Quiet? Over the top? Impulsive and out of the blue??

talked about this on discord a few weeks ago so forgive me if it’s completely incoherent xoxoxo

Adegoke: is a very traditional guy with this sort of thing – he’d want a religious ceremony, IDEALLY at his family church but that part is negotiable. would be all over the idea of a backyard wedding kind of vibe?? it’s just important to him that his family and friends are all there so it would inevitably be Big but like. also very chill and informal i think. lots of food.

Arthur: would really want to have a perfect traditional wedding as a big fuck you to his family (because arthur’s idea of “a big fuck you to his family” is for some reason often Doing Exactly What They Would Want Him To) but i also think he would just have a horrible fucking time lmao so he would rly need his SO to be like arthur. no. let’s Do Something Else and he would probably be a bit pissy about it and then later have to reluctantly acknowledge that it was a Good Idea.

Atticus: basically just plugs his ears and goes lalalala throughout the whole wedding planning process he just agrees to whatever and tries not to think about it too much. if his SO is ever like :/ shall we just elope he’s like OH THANK GOD YES LETS and feels an Immense Sense Of Relief.

Avery: whatever happens, avery will be driving herself to distraction planning Every Tiny Detail and just completely losing all perspective of what matters. would love to have a destination wedding, I think, and would be Much More Relaxed the moment that they arrived wherever they were doing the weddinging.

Charlie: i think charlie would actually just want something pretty small because he would absolutely want to write his own vows and the less people there are there the greater the chance of him actually getting through it without totally going to pieces (although he would ABSOLUTELY tear up at the ceremony lmao). absolutely not tacky enough to want a star wars wedding but it would still be packed with inside jokes at every opportunity.

Ellis: honestly would just love something low key and intimate – just them and their SO and a couple of witnesses and then like maybe an outdoor movie screening and a nice meal??? would love getting all dressed up and fancy and would like to have a photographer to take lots of great arty pictures that they’d put ALL over the house

Florrie: would absolutely want a big huge ridiculous wedding with glitter on everything and a fun upbeat first dance (not a slow one) and that bit where you smush the cake into each other’s faces and fireworks!! (okay maybe not fireworks they’re expensive but like. she would Love Them. rich MCs only please).

Griff: lichrully does not care, will do whatever his SO wants he’s just jazzed to be married to them. his family would kill him if they weren’t there, though, so that’d be the only thing he’d be keen on if asked (and he would Love if his niblings got to Do A Thing like ring bearing or flower childing or w/e so that’d be cool).

Imogen: would Love a big wedding and the idea of it but also like. who would she invite LOL so she would basically be down for whatever as long as she gets to wear a big nice dress and get to do a sweeping romantic waltz and have cute pictures of it that she can treasure forever. would Absolutely cry listening to her SO’s vows.

Nyra: would immediately become stressed the moment Actually Planning A Wedding became a thing because her parents would make her do something huge that she would hate hahaha. she would maybe suggest doing like a really small intimate private ceremony for Just Them and then the horror of the huge wedding her parents throws would be more manageable in the knowledge that they have already had their moment the way they wanted it.

Syd: would Absolutely be down for a vegas wedding situation, just the tackiest and most ridiculous and most fun shit. or like one of those things where people get married mid skydive or whatever. the actual ~wedding~ isn’t really that important to them, it’s just an excuse for a good time. they would Resist a big white wedding but like as long as there was a big party involved they could probs be talked round (as long as they didn’t have to wear a penguin suit).

#rowan and vinh aren't here cause they aren't getting married and their ideal wedding is no wedding xoxo #ch: adegoke #ch: arthur #ch: atticus #ch: avery #ch: charlie #ch: ellis #ch: florrie #ch: griff #ch: imogen #ch: nyra #ch: syd #ye that's right i'm just Drowning the tl in content today #felt guilty about not posting in a while lmaooo

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

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Like The Stars Hold The Moon

Written By : @katnissmellarkkkk

Prompt 59 : "Katniss dad is a victor, he won his hunger games and is a mentor. Peeta is reaped for the games and Katniss begs her dad to help him win the games. [submitted by anonymous]“

Hi! It feels like there’s so much I need to say here and I can’t remember any of it now! This is obviously–if you read the summary, which I assume you did and that’s why you’re here hahaha–an EFE prompt. It was submitted by an anonymous person, so I don’t know specifically if this is what you wanted but I really hope this is good enough that you’ll be fulfilled?

I don’t think there is much more to say? I hope everyone who reads this has a good day! I wrote plenty of this on Easter so I’d like to thank Jesus for rising again. And I feel like the prompt alone is a sufficient summary but just so you know, this heavily features Katniss, Peeta (obvi), Haymitch and Katniss’ father, Hunter (I named him, that’s not canon, I know).

This fic I likely going to be a three-shot with an opportunity for a sequel three-shot. Oh and also, thank you to the anon who sent the prompt!

Oh and this got really long, so I’m just going to submit the first part on here and then I’ll add a link at the bottom to continue reading on AO3. I’ve never done this before so I don’t know if I’m doing it right?

Okay, if you read all my talking, bye now!

Rated T for the canon violence.

At the reaping for the Forty-Seventh Hunger Games, Matty Knick drew out the names of a ”very special boy“ and ”a very special girl“ from the reaping bowls. She read them off in a bright voice and matched the sentiment with an out of place perky smile. The girl’s name was Heather Branch.

And the boy’s was Hunter Everdeen.

Of course, everyone knows the story of Hunter Everdeen.

Year of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games.

"So Hunter,” Caesar Flickerman leans toward the victor, absolutely electrified, and says, “tell us, tell us. How excited are you for the games this year?”

The camera focuses in on gray eyes, the color of a storm cloud or a cleanly polished knife. Dangerous and hard and cunning.

Or protective and frightful and angry.

Or warm and loving and kind.

“I’m about as excited as I always am, Caesar,” he shoots back, not a trace of even so much as a smirk on his face. Not even so much as a lift from the corner of his mouth.

And still, the crowd of Capitol idiots burst out in laughter, as if they just heard the funniest joke in the world, as if this was Hunter’s desired response to the words.

As if the conversation wasn’t about teenagers—and some as young as twelve—killing other teenagers.

“And what about you, Haymitch?” Caesar asks next, segueing from one aggravated man to another.

“I’m looking forward to the free drinks,” Haymitch says while tipping back dark gold colored liquid into his mouth. Almost as an afterthought, he gestures wide and sloppy to the crowd, igniting cacophonous sounds from the population once more. “And of course, the social interaction with all you lovely people.”

No one in the audience recognizes the insult. No one understands the blatant sarcasm at their expense.

Here in District Twelve though, we do. As exemplified by Peeta’s laugh, vibrating against my back. “Shh,” I hush, laser focused on the enormous television screen before us.

“Daddy’s not speaking anymore,” Prim reminds me from the other room, where she’s currently flipping through a magazine our father sent.

“Well, be quiet before he does,” I snap, elbowing Peeta when he rolls his eyes now. “Stop it, I haven’t seen him in weeks,” I complain, fixing him with a fierce glare.

“I know,” he murmurs agreeably, gently kissing my temple. “But he’ll be home in a few days.”

As if they could hear our exchange from inside the television box, Caesar turns his attention back to my father. “Hunter, how excited are you to get home to District Twelve?”

At that, his eyes genuinely light up with ferocity. “I’m counting the minutes,” he replies, but still manages to keep his tone cool. He adamantly refuses to give away his true emotion to even a single soul in the Capitol. It’s his way of withholding power from their greedy, glitter covered hands.

But I see the change in him. Prim, from her position against the doorframe, sees it. I’m positive my mother, who’s watching with our brother from the comfort of our house sees it as well.

Our father’s eyes are now alive again, the permanent frown his mouth resides in on every televised appearance loosens a bit, his brows aren’t knit so closely together any longer.

Caesar Flickerman sees the change too evidently.

“Look at those silver coins!” He bellows, gesturing for the cameras to put my father in a close up now. “They just lit up like the stars when talking about home. Tell me, Hunter Everdeen, how’s the family back in District Twelve?”

At that, my father makes a considerable effort to transform his entire expression into a mask of indifference. “They’re good,” he states evenly, his tone clipped. Making it blatant to even the airheaded Capitol citizens that he refuses to speak publicly about his family.

“Because you’re not property of the Capitol, baby,” he told me once, while on a walk in the woods. “You’re not anyone’s property.”

“What about you and mommy?”

“You’re our responsibility, but not our property.” He’d knelt down to my height, which happened to be the shortest in my second grade class. “Property implies ownership, Katniss. And no one owns you. No one owns you or your sister. Remember that for me. And never let yourself forget it.”

“You’re daughters are both old enough for the reaping, am I right?” Caesar presses further, and my sister and I automatically sigh. Knowing the response that’s bound to come.

“What’s wrong?” Peeta asks, as he still remains completely clueless. I shake my head instead of offering an explanation though, leaning further into his chest.

Peeta won’t understand. He was raised in town by merchants—the owners of the bakery, to be specific. He’s never understood the fierce protectiveness, the instantaneous fury, the irrational tunnel vision, that appears when a victor’s child is mentioned entering the games.

Peeta’s never even met my father. I’m not impatient by any stretch of the imagination to put the two of them in the same room, to watch my father chew my boyfriend up and devour him alive, to abide by his rules and regulations that will surely come with dating.

He doesn’t know Peeta and I have even so much as shaken hands. I’ve never so much as left him even the slightest hint. Not even when I’ve accompanied him to the bakery for the occasional trade with Peeta’s father, the baker himself.

Like both Prim and I predicted, our father is now on edge, his breathing uneven and his nostrils flaring. “Yes. Both my girls are of age,” he says after a long beat, his tone hard and jagged.

Caesar though is either oblivious or is extraordinarily practiced at appearing obtuse. “Well, wouldn’t it be something if either of them were chosen for the games? Am I right?” He directs his questions to the audience. “Don’t we all love a family story?” His words elicit cheers and hollers and a murderous glint in my father’s silver eyes. The camera only catches it for a moment’s time before quickly flitting away, towards the much more enjoyable image of the Captiolites chattering like chipmunks at the very idea.

And suddenly I feel Peeta’s arm tighten around me, the vision of me—the only person in the world he’s certain that he loves—being taken away from our home here in Twelve and tossed into an arena with kids twice her size, too much for even his naïve mind.

“Don’t we all believe in Mr. Everdeen,” the talk show host continues to push and I feel my typical annoyance with the odd man bleed into anger. “I mean, he brought home Mr. Abernathy here.” And with one single hand gesture from Caesar, the entire interview’s focus re-centers on Haymitch.

And unlike my father, he doesn’t even miss a beat before replying.

“Barely,” he mutters with a last swig of his drink, cleaning the glass. “And he was stingy with the gifts.”

Next to him, my father relaxes a bit. Haymitch always brings out a bit of levity in him, even on his worst days.

After all, in my father’s eyes, the paunchy drunk is a symbol of hope.

Haymitch is the only person my father’s ever brought him. He’s the only other living victor inside the confines of Twelve.

Not to mention his closest friend.

And my surrogate uncle, I note, a bit ironically. Haymitch and I have a far different relationship than he has with anyone else in my family but he’s always been there, has known me since the day I was born, often has dinner at our house, rain or shine, no matter how much he annoys my mother, and he’s an irreplaceable member of my family.

The audience is still riled up from Haymitch and howling with laughter—a bit too much, in my opinion—but my father can’t let the subject of his children go before adding one last sentiment.

“Don’t worry, Caesar. If either of my girls are reaped, trust me,” he states, louder and far more pronounced than anything else he’s said the entire interview. “They will be the victor. There’s not a tribute in the arena that would survive against my girl.”

For as long as I can remember, my father had taken me to the woods. He sometimes claims the first time he looked down at me in my mother’s arms, at a mere two days old, he saw a familiar hunger in my eyes.

Not a hunger for food. District Twelve is the smallest and the poorest in the country of Panem, but luckily, my family is one of the richest.

Unlike my schoolmates, I’ve never once had to worry about having enough to eat for lunch. My parents never worried that we’d starve to death or that Prim and I could be taken from their grasp by authorities. They never worried about supplying us with whatever we needed—they gave us more than we ever could have wanted—and they never had to fret that we’d be sent to the mines for work one day.

No, we were far too wealthy and far too famous for any of that.

But my parents had a far different batch of worries to keep them up at night. Not about food or finances or anything remotely common in Twelve.

No, they had to worry about cameras peaking into the privacy of our home and photos being taken without our knowledge and my face or Prim’s face being splashed across every magazine and newspaper in the country.

They worried about the almost insatiable thirst the Capitol seems to have for more family dynamics among the victors.

Especially after the recent back-to-back sibling victories led the hunger games to higher ratings and revenues in the Capitol.

When I was a child, my mother coached me to never go into town without my father by my side. Which sounds easy enough, until my father’s extensive vacations to the Capitol are taken into consideration. For as long as I can remember, my father would leave at random stretches of time, for weeks on end. To go play puppet for a population so dumb, so completely isolated from the rest of the country, that they took his anger for sarcasm. They took his bite as charm. They believed his glare was an act, was part of his appeal, when in reality my father had rebelled against performing for the last twenty-seven years.

When he was gone, our lives became strict. Bedtimes came earlier, curtains remained drawn day in and day out, our mother never wanted to sing or dance or even so much as smile with her husband gone.

But when he was home, sunshine peaked in our windows again. It danced on the floor and it swept us away with its gentle affection.

There was music and laughter and sweets and toys. He never returned from the Capitol empty-handed. He brought back expensive jewels for our mother, he built me and Prim a fancy treehouse in the backyard, put up a large, golden swing-set, went as far as purchasing as many cakes and breads as he could hold from the Mellark Bakery.

Peeta’s parents bakery.

Since I was two, further back than I can even retain, my father would take me out to the woods, would hold my hand and tell me old stories of District Twelve’s past, detail insane urban legends, teach me about plants and berries and trees and the direction of the wind.

And for as long as I can remember, I idolized him. He was so confident and so charismatic and so kind. For as long as I could remember, I wanted to be exactly like him when I grew up. It felt like an honor to me that I received far more his end of the gene line than my mother’s. She was regarded as a beauty in her youth, but he was one of the most magnificent people in the country. Having his coloring and the same silver eyes felt like a special gift, awarded every single time someone marveled at how similar we appear.

But my father was gone often and the unpredictable lengths of his stays in the large, foreign city was one of the only constants my family ever knew. So it really came as no surprise when my mother phoned the cabin only minutes after Caesar’s interview was over.

“I’ll get it,” Prim says flatly after a moment, throwing a sardonic glance at me and Peeta on the couch. Now in a much different entanglement than we had been while watching the talk-show.

“Thanks,” I murmur unintelligibly against Peeta’s mouth, before closing my eyes in pleasure.

“Don’t strain yourselves,” she can’t stop herself from tacking on the end.

“We’ll try not to while you’re still here,” Peeta murmurs cheekily, moving his lips downwards, towards my neck, right onto my pulse point. I let out a somewhat ridiculous squeak in response.

“Hello?” Prim says lightly into the receiver, already knowing it’s our mother. No one else calls this phone, inside this hidden cabin, located in the woods surrounding Twelve.

The woods in which officials fenced off years ago. The woods in which it’s illegal to enter. The woods in which my father has taken me to hunt for families less fortunate than ours since I was a small infant.

It’s not a typical cabin found in the outskirts of Twelve. No, ordinarily a cabin out here—a cabin anywhere in Panem, really—is nothing more than a broken down shack. There’s normally nothing other than an unsteady foundation, a freezing damp floor and an unlit fireplace.

But somewhere along the lines, in the years before I was born, my parents resurrected this place from the depths of despair and expanded it, rebuilt it, refurnished and redecorated and turned it into a vast, warm, safe second home for all of us to run away to when we felt the need.

Prim listens into the receiver for a long moment before she sighs deeply and beckons me. “Katniss, can you?”

Instantly, I break away from Peeta’s embrace, cupping his face and pulling him back from my collarbone.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I scramble off the couch, my anxiety abruptly spiked. “Did something happen?” I search Prim’s eyes as I take the phone from her but, to my utter relief, all I find there is blatant, unmasked disappointment.

I already know what my mother is going to say before I put the phone to my ear. “Hi?”

“Hi, honey,” she murmurs, her voice both strained and higher than typical. Which indicates she’s trying to put up a front for us right now, when she’d rather be moping in bed. “Your father just called. Evidently Effie Trinket informed him he has more scheduled commitments to fulfill before he can come home.”

I deflate, already prepard, knowing this was coming. Isn’t it always coming inadvertently? My father has never been home when he was scheduled to be in my life. No matter the holiday, the birthday, the emergency or event, the Capitol demands that they comes first to him. Not even my birth could upstage his commitments. He wasn’t allowed to return home to Twelve, to meet his firstborn child, until his press events were done and over with.

It’s no wonder he refuses to put on show for those people.

“Okay,” I mumble after a moment, not even convinced my mother is even still there on the other end.

“It’ll be alright,” she says, as positively as she can. “He’ll be home as soon.”

“Yeah.” I try and fail miserably to match her tone. I inherited my father’s ability to act. Or inability, that is.

There’s the faint sound of crying in the background, and my heart aches a bit. “I’m sorry, honey, I have to go check on Archer,” she apologizes as a way of saying goodbye.

I make my way into the kitchen as soon as we hang up. Prim is standing by the counter, staring at the same magazine our father sent three weeks ago.

Peeta comes up behind me then, his hand rubbing my back in comforting circles. “Your father delayed again?”

I nod silently, as my eyes focused on my little sister now. She’s trying her best to hold back the upset that’s threatening to take over.

And without hesitation, my instincts to protect my family from anything and everything painful kick in. “Prim, it’s okay. It’s probably only going to be another week before he’s back,” I console, stepping closer to her small frame and touching her back.

It’s all the initiation she needs before spinning around into my arms and clinging onto me tight. “He’s never around,” she cries into my neck—I’m not much taller than her—as her shoulders shake with tears.

I feel Peeta’s eyes on me, measuring my reaction to Prim’s words. He’s heard me cry the same thing time and time again, he knows the familiarity of this scene better than anyone should.

“He tries his best, Prim,” I whisper thickly into her long, blonde hair. She’s fair and light, like our mother. Like a merchant or peacekeeper. Looking at my little sister, you’d never consider her to be the daughter of a man from the Seam.

But you’d easily believe that she was a girl raised in Victor’s Village and I suppose that’s what counts. Where we were raised and not where we could have been, if things had gone different.

“He’s never really going to be ours though,” she weeps and I don’t have words to comfort her now. Because she’s right.

Our father will always belong to the Capitol, first and foremost.

And not even his children can upstage that.

Prim leaves not long later, to head home to Victor’s Village and more than likely curl up with our mother for the night. They’ve both always been so alike, so much softer and more hopeful than me. I half expect every trip of our father’s to double in time, if not triple. After a lifetime of disappointments, I can’t help but prepare myself.

It’s not that they’re weak for believing. It’s that I have too much Hunter Everdeen in me. I have too much pessimism crawling inside my bones to ever fully trust that he’s really coming home until he’s already stepped off the train in Twelve.

Too many hours of my childhood were spent, wearing fancy stockings and warm, fur-lined coats, standing at the train station, only to welcome a load of cargo and no father in sight. Too many times were phone calls answered in tears. Too many night spent crying, clinging to my father’s hunting jacket, so disoriented by the hazardous schedule in which our lives were ran, waiting for my father to phone, waiting for him to walk through the front door, waiting for him to sneak up on us in the middle of the night or pull us from class on a school day.

That was the true constant in my life. Waiting for my father to finally come home, knowing every moment we shared was on borrowed time. Knowing that he’d never truly belong to us. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to hear my mother’s bedroom door slam and lock, waiting to hear Prim cry or Archer wail, waiting to see that defeated glint in my father’s slate gaze.

I close the cabin door behind my sister now, knowing with confidence that she’ll make it home alright, even with the sun currently setting in the faded blue sky.

Our father never took Prim hunting like he did me, never brought her out to the woods and taught her to shoot a bow and arrow, never showed her how to trap and kill an animal. But even still, the path from the cabin to our home in Victor’s Village is imprinted in our brains, like a birthmark or tattoo. We’d be able to find our way to and from, even if we were sleepwalking.

As would Peeta. Considering this is the place he spends the majority of his time.

Considering this cabin may as well be his permanent address.

And if it weren’t illegal, it very well might be, I think to myself wryly as I walk over to where he’s leaning against the doorframe now.

“Hello,” I greet again, hopping onto my tiptoes and kissing his lips lightly.

He grasps my hips, smiling against my mouth. “Don’t you have to get home too?” He hesitantly asks, his desire to keep me here bleeding through every caress of his fingers, as they trail underneath my loose shirt, sliding upwards and causing an electric current to ripple through the core of my body.

But I just shake my head at his inquiry, moving my mouth from his to kiss down the side of his face, underneath his jawline.

“Mmm,” he moans after a long moment, before suddenly putting a few more inches between us. “Are you sure your mother won’t miss you?”

Peeta’s always been considerate of my mother. Too considerate sometimes, if I do say so myself. Bordering on obsessive.

He is obsessed with keeping her approval, with never crossing any invisible line, with never even so much as mildly exasperating her.

I suppose it’s only natural though. She is the only parental figure he has in his life.

I’ve never been too enthusiastic to introduce him to my father and he’s never pushed the issue too far. Hunter Everdeen is a practical legend around Twelve—and beloved across the entirety of Panem—but he’s the reason, I’ve always privately felt, that I was isolated from all my classmates.

Sure, I’m already not the most friendly person to start with, in anyone’s book. As Haymitch never hesitates to tell me. But there was already very little chance of me making friends in school anyway. Being the victor of the Forty-Seventh Hunger Games’ child dropped the chances of play-dates or sleepovers drastically. My father trusts no one. Not with his children.

And I didn’t mind for the most part. I’m too like him to enjoy people much anyway. This whole notion was much harder on Prim, who adored her fellow classmates and easily endeared herself to them as well. But no matter how darling my little sister may be, nothing changed our father’s mind and when he was set on something, it was practically written in stone.

I can’t even imagine how Peeta must feel, having to live in fear for the entire last year of our little secret being exposed. I may be nervous about how my father will react, but Peeta has to be outright petrified.

“My mother will be fine,” I murmur, rolling my eyes as I lean back against the wall now. “She’s got Prim and Archie to keep her sane until my father’s home.”

Peeta chuckles at me, a mirthful smile in his eyes. “And you got me,” he teases, tapping my nose with his finger.

I giggle in a way I withheld until Prim left. I wasn’t about to give her ammunition to mock me later on. “All to myself,” I add, matching his expression now. “For unlimited hours of the day.”

“That’s my girl, looking on the bright side.”

I snort. “Yeah, that’s me.” I’m the exact opposite of an optimist. I prefer expecting the worse and setting expectations low. Maybe it’s a learned behavior but, at least that way, I’m not crushed like my mother when things don’t pan out the way I want.

Peeta mistakes the look on my face to be one of hidden disappointment. “You’re father will be home soon, sweetheart. They can’t keep him in the Capitol forever.”

“Can’t they?” I mumble, not expecting an answer. Before he can offer one—because Peeta is nothing if not a fixer—I quickly segue to a new topic. “Where do you think you’ll go when my father does come home?”

He just shrugs the question off though, completely unbothered. “Anywhere but home,” he says simply, his stunning blue eyes clear as the sky they remind me of.

“Anywhere but there,” I agree, my smile twisting into a grimace.

A year ago, when I was barely fifteen, President Snow—Panem’s true Gamemaker, my father always said—demanded every victor extend their stay in the Capitol, even after the games ended that year. He gave no outright reason and my father was cagey to speak on the subject, but in the end, the president’s word was law and there was no room for argument. President Snow can demand of us whatever he wishes.

It was a cold, dreary autumn that year, with early snowfall, which was the leading cause to the significant increase in accidents and injuries. My mother, the born healer, had more patients than she could handle, and even while training Prim as her assistant, she required my help. I was to head to town and purchase a list of herbs from the apothecary shop her parents still owned. The people who disowned her, who had little to no interest in her after she married a man from the Seam, victor or not. The people who never cared to meet their own grandchildren, to acknowledge our existence even as we passed right by their shop, in their plain sight.

I was dragging my feet the entire walk there, already with a sour taste in my mouth, when I heard the loudest wail my ears had every registered. When I heard sharp words being screamed out, when the sound of a boy sobbing filled the air.

And my instincts took over, my every sense focused on finding the hurt and helping them, altogether forgoing the trip for my mother’s herbs.

I followed the commotion to the bakery’s backdoor. Right through the open threshold, it was crystal clear, the baker’s wife—the witch, as many of the kids at school referred to her—had beaten her youngest son senselessly.

He’s in my year, I’d realized abruptly, staring with an agape mouth at his bloody face. His eye was swelling and his nose and lip were smeared scarlet and the only thing that crossed my mind at first, was I recognized him as the blonde boy with the colorful notebook, who could never meet my eyes and always wore long sleeves.

Of course, I snapped out of the daze after only a moment. The witch turned and caught sight of me, snapping that no Seam brat was going to get any free handouts from her and to scatter before she called the Peacekeepers.

Something about the unmasked prejudice against the Seam, a place where people in Twelve had next to nothing and were seen as lesser than the merchants, jolted me into action.

“Get your hand off him!” I’d demanded, using my entire body weight, just as my father taught me, to push the door open as she tried to close it in my face. “Let him go or I swear I’ll make you regret it.”

At that, I heard an ugly laugh and the door flew open again, my exerted force throwing it back into the wall.

“I’m serious, child,” she snaps, her blue eyes narrow and her mouth in a snide smirk. “I will call the Peacekeepers to remove you from my shop-”

I didn’t even let her finish. I wasn’t one to be messed with. Not when I just witnessed something awful firsthand, not when I had it in my power to do something.

I knew then I couldn’t bring my father home. He was owned by the president and the Capitol. To an extent, we all were. And I knew I couldn’t stop the games from happening or the possibility of my name being pulled from the reaping bowl. I couldn’t always make my mother come out of her room or even out of her bed, when her illness struck bad. And I couldn’t stop my siblings from crying for our father at night.

But I knew that day in the bakery, I had the power over Mrs. Mellark and I wasn’t going to let her get away with hurting her son anymore.

“Call them,” I dared, not an ounce of insecurity in my voice. “Cray is an old family friend.” He was actually indebted to my father, who’d kept the man’s secrets for too many years to count. But family friend rolled off the tongue more effectively.

“Head Peacekeeper is now making friends in the Seam?” She spat in disbelief. “No wonder this district is so rundown.”

She laughed humorlessly, but my focus was pulled towards the boy. He was covering the left side of his face, as if it hurt too badly to release. As if he was trying to stop his eye from swelling, stop his nose from gushing blood. As if he could hold his now split lip together with nothing more than the palm of his hand.

The sight hurt my heart to see. It burned a fire inside of me that only a true injustice could set alight.

“My father is Hunter Everdeen,” I snapped in the woman’s direction, not even basking in satisfaction when her face drained of all color. The idea that a scrappy little girl with olive skin and dark hair was the child of the most powerful man in all of Twelve struck a cord inside even the witch. “Still wanna make that call?”

The woman’s face was caught between anger and shock when I glanced at her again. And I hated her for it. I hated her and every single person in this district who hurt their kids, who took out their grievances on them, who made them cower and quiver in fear. Who raised them to be afraid of those they loved in a world already so awful.

I know I live a privileged life but, deep in my bones, I know even if things were different, my parents wouldn’t have laid a hand on us. Even if we were so poor I had to take tesserae, even if we were starving to the point of no return, even if we were practically homeless in the Seam, my parents would never hurt us.

“Leave,” the witch spoke then, but her voice was void of all emotion.

“Not without him,” I refused, my eyes planted on the wounded boy in front of me. The boy who was doing everything to avoid looking me in the eye, too busy covering his battered face.

I heard a sound caught between a groan and a shriek, before a cutting board was tossed across the room. “Just go!” She shouted at her son, causing him to flinch severely. “Just go with her!”

On her order, which sounded more distraught than angry, the boy had stormed out the back door and into the chilly evening air, still covering his face desperately, still looking utterly ashamed.

But he waited for me to catch up with him. He waited for me to guide him away from that awful woman he was forced to call his mother.

He didn’t flinch when I touched his arm nor when I took his hand. And when I led him away from the town and towards the village, he followed me without complaint.

Actually, he followed me without a single word.

I realized this just as my house came into view. “You never told me your name?” I whispered, looking up at him gently.

He had tears leaking from his eyes that he was doing his best to ignore, the bleeding on the left side of his face had barely even lightened up, his eye was swelling bigger and bigger, and yet, he chuckled a little at the question. “I’ve been in your class since kindergarten, Katniss.”

I felt my cheeks burn pink, even under the darkening sky. “I know.” But I still peered up at him, curiously waiting for him to tell me.

“It’s Peeta,” he finally answered, maybe a bit satirical.

“Peeta Mellark,” I suddenly recognized.

“Mhmm. Figured you’d pick up the last name.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s printed across the bakery in huge letters?”

“Oh.” He chuckled at my ignorance, causing my blush to deepen.

And I realized immediately how much I liked the sound of his laugh. How I liked being the reason for the sound.

My stomach did a complete flip at the notion and my ears abruptly felt hot, but I tried to push all this away, needing to get him to my mother.

“Wait,” he halted before I could even reached the front door. “Is your mother in there?”

I shot him a confused look. “Yeah, of course? Who else-”

I didn’t even get a chance to finish though. “I really don’t want anyone else to know about this,” he pleads, his eyes looking as frightened as they did with the witch.

“Peeta-” I start, opening my mouth argue, to convince him to go into the house and let my mother treat his injuries. To let me get him help.

But one look inside his desolated, defeated, terrified eyes and I couldn’t make myself do it. I couldn’t put him through any more than he’d already gone through. Not when he’d eventually have to go face the witch again at home.

“Okay,” I whispered, and I felt him squeeze the hand I didn’t realize I was still clutching. “Let me take you somewhere else. And I’ll try to fix you up myself.”

I wasn’t a healer like my mother and Prim. I was a hunter, just like my father, just like his very name, through and through. But I had witnessed enough of what my mother did—my father had forced me to witness enough of what she did, in case I ever needed the knowledge—and I was confident I had the expertise to help him.

My decision was validated by the relief in Peeta’s eyes, by the visible exhale he expelled from inside. He was ashamed, I realized, of his abuse. He was embarrassed to let anyone know what was happening behind closed doors.

I guided him by the hand outside the village, through the Seam—a place in which he’d never been before—and to the fence line.

“Isn’t it electrified?” He asked, his grip on my palm tightening. I liked the sensation for some reason. I liked the way his big hand felt wrapped around my small one. I liked how he wanted to hold onto me in the darkness.

“Nope,” I say, and let out a proud giggle. Or maybe a nervous one. Whenever I think back to this night, I can never tell.

“How do you know?” His blonde eyebrows knit together, still afraid in a way I’d never had to be. My father had taught me everything there was to know about the woods from a young age.

“Listen,” I urge softly, leaning my ear towards the fence.

He cranes forward too, waiting for the buzz of electricity to fill his ears. Only, just as I knew, it never does. Because it never has. The fence’s electricity was shut off long before we were even born.

I watched as his face registered the silence, as he realized and trusted I was right. And I beamed at him, before showing him the way my father slips beyond the fence and guiding him through the trees, towards the cabin, buried deep inside the woods.

It took an hour to find, not because of the blackened sky, but because Peeta’s face hurt so badly that his gait was slowed. But I remained patient, even though that was never my strong suit either. I waited for him to pick up the pace, to be ready to move, to find our way through the tall green trees. I pulled all the branches I could see out of his path, used the moon as our flashlight and didn’t complain once when he stumbled along the way.

By the time we got to the cabin, it had to be past Archer’s bedtime. My mother would be worried sick for me, but I soothed myself that she had plenty on her plate. I’m her firstborn. The child she understands the least, the one who’s like her husband in body and soul. I knew I was probably near the bottom of her worry list.

The very first thing I did when we entered the cabin was order Peeta to sit down in the dining room. I gathered my mother’s first aid kit from the bathroom, wet a rag in cool water and I got to work cleaning the blood from his face.

“This has to be gross for you,” he murmurs after a long stretch of silence. His eyes betrayed how self-conscious he must have felt.

Trying to alleviate his anxiety, I pretended to shrug it off. “My mother cleans wounds all the time. At our kitchen table, no less.”

Peeta made a noise that indicated he didn’t buy my act of ease. “I heard at school that you run from the sick and injured.”

I raised my eyebrows at the comment. No one at school talked about me. No one knew me well enough to. People stopped trying to get close to any of Hunter Everdeen’s kids years ago.

The longer I stared at Peeta in disbelief, the more he seemed to lose confidence in his statement. “Maybe I didn't hear it,” he finally amended. I brought the damp cloth back up to his face again as a reward, tenderly wiping away the blood, before using the clean side to set against his swelling lid, hoping to offer some pain reduction there as well. “Maybe I saw it,” he added sheepishly.

I furrowed my brows, even more perplexed by the elaboration. “Saw it?”

“When Leaf Barker tripped and broke his knee in Physical Education last year? You were almost green when you bolted out of the gymnasium.”

His words conjured up a vague image. Still though, something about this felt odd to me.

“How do you remember that better than I do?”

At that, Peeta shrugged. “I guess, I notice you sometimes?”

“What do you mean, sometimes?” I pressed, none of his words suddenly making a bit of sense.

“Why did you stick up for me tonight?” He abruptly segued, his expression shifting into something of defense, like he’s trying to deflect.

But I’m not one to be deterred. “I wasn’t going to stand there and watch your mother hurt you,” I stated, my voice remaining firm. “Why?��

He continued to walk around my question. “Is tonight the first night you ever noticed me?”

I pulled my hand and the damp cloth away from his wounded face, reaching in the kit to grab a white cream I’d seen my mother and Prim both use on swelling before. “Yes,” I finally replied, because I don’t know what else to say. That I saw him glance at me sometimes and then watched as his eyes flit away? That I noticed how he doodled in math class, because he found the subject boring? That I’d seen him lift a sack easily over his shoulder at the bakery and watched him beat almost every upperclassmen at wrestling, even while three years their junior?

None of that seems even remotely relevant to mention.

“When was the first time you noticed me?” I shot back, still being careful to apply the cream with only the lightest pressure to his battered eye.

“Kindergarten,” he instantly blurted out, his tone simple and bold.

I stared at him in disbelief for a long moment before chuckling, catching the joke. “Funny.”

“I’m serious,” he refuted, peaking his good eye open, the sky meeting a silver dollar as our gaze locked. And I see that he is serious somehow.

“What?”

“The first day of kindergarten,” he continued, after a long beat of me just staring him. His confidence had wavered once again and he was looking a bit regretful that he’d put this out in the open. “You were wearing a red velvet dress and brown stockings. Your hair was in two braids instead of one and your ribbons matched your dress. The teacher asked during music assembly who knew The Valley Song and your hand shot right up. She put you on a stool and you sang it, clear as day, for everyone to hear. Even the birds outside stopped to listen. And from that moment on… I was a goner.”

I just continued to look at him in disbelief, unable to put the pieces of what he’s said together. Finally, I whispered, “you’re telling the truth?”

“I’ve had a crush on you for forever,” he admitted, his singularly open eye giving away his nerves at the admission. “And I know you probably don’t feel the same way. I know you didn’t even know my name until tonight but I just wanted to say, in case we never have the chance to speak again-”

“Stop,” I cut him off, my mind already about to explode. “Stop, um…” I refused to look at him as I spoke, furiously staring down at my lap. “I need more time to… process this.”

He had a crush on me since the first day of kindergarten? He’d heard me sing and from that day forward he held a hidden candle for me?

And he never once worked up the courage to talk to me?

Dozens of moments suddenly race through my mind.

Cerulean blue eyes finding me in a crowd countless times and then pulling away as soon as I meet them. The time I wanted to play a stupid game at recess and a stocky blonde boy volunteered to be team captain, and then picked me first. The stunning drawing I found in my locker last year on Sweetheart’s Day, that I was convinced was put there by mistake, though it bore a striking resemblance to the doodles on Peeta’s notebook.

And before I could stop it, I felt myself begin to shake with nerves.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he apologized, seeing my frightened reaction. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just… I didn’t know if I’d ever get the opportunity to tell you again-”

“Shhh,” I hushed, picking up the damp cloth once more. “Let me take care of your face. And then…” I hesitated again, unsure what to say in this situation. I had exactly zero experiences to compare this to. “Tomorrow we can talk more.”

Peeta nodded amicably, staying silent for the reminder of my ministrations. I felt a terrible pang of guilt for not responding the way he’d probably hoped, but there was still a part of me too stunned to even fully register the confession.

I was an outcast. I’d never fit in with the kids at school, neither town or Seam. I don’t look like the merchants and I’m too rich for the Seam folk. I would have been alone all the time at school if it weren’t for Madge Undersee, the mayor’s daughter who sat with me at lunch and partnered with me in class.

How could anyone have even noticed me to be anything other than strange? I barely spoke, even in classes where I knew all the answers. And I hardly participated in games or gossip. I had a father who insisted most days on picking me up himself from school, not allowing me to walk home alone like the other kids.

But the look in Peeta’s eyes was earnest. He wasn’t playing some elaborate trick on me, he wasn’t trying to coerce me into confessing something as well so he could humiliate me. He was being genuine in every way I could tell. And I had my father’s senses.

The same senses that helped him win his hunger games.

A new thought struck me out of the blue. Peeta seemed too kind and too considerate to have a mother who beat him like this. He doesn’t fit the profile of the kids in the community home, brought there by even less abuse than I witnessed firsthand tonight.

The insane urge to get to know him more, to learn more about this complete stranger who I went out on an impulsive limb for suddenly surges through my brain.

It wouldn’t be a good idea, I told myself. He’s a merchant and I’m the daughter of a victor. Two titles that seem not far apart in theory but are miles away from the other in practice. And I’m not experienced with people the way he is. I don’t know how to make friends or how to maintain them. I don’t know what he expects from me but it’s surely more than I know how to give. I don’t know what to say in a situation like this. Haymitch always tells me I’m as romantic as dirt.

But is that what I want to be? I asked myself as I finished fixing Peeta up. Do I want to be romantic? Do I want to be that girl who holds her boyfriend’s hand in the town square and kisses him under the moonlight? Do I want to put an embroidered ribbon in my hair and wear an expensive dress from the Capitol to go to the Sweetheart’s Dance? Do I want to sneak in through my bedroom window at the crack of dawn so my father won’t know I’ve been out all night?

If I could learn to be romantic, would I want to be?

And naturally, the answer I’ve always known automatically seeps through my brain. No. I’m not like my mother and Prim. I’m practical by nature, rather than fanciful. I’ve never truly obsessed about falling in love or fawned over even the most incredible looking men on the television.

But something held me back now. Something inside me said that answer, the truth I’d always known, is suddenly not entirely accurate anymore.

Because I find that I did want those things I just described. I did want to have someone to hold, someone to laugh with, someone who conjured up that same flip in my stomach as Peeta did earlier when he laughed.

I wanted the same kind of love my parents had. The kind of love that brought them both to life, despite the horrible circumstances they’d both separately endured. I wanted the kind of love that they showed me was possible, even in a world as bleak and as inhumane as Panem felt at times.

I only realized how long I’d been silent, contemplating my inner desires, when Peeta offered a minuscule smile and stood up slowly to leave.

I opened my mouth to speak but when his eyes met mine, every thought in my head was magically wiped away. I had nothing to say, nothing that could be of any sort of consequence, that could mean anything in comparison to his confession.

“I should head back to town,” he murmured, trying to appear nonchalant. “Face my mother. Hope she’s in a better mood now-”

But I couldn’t stand the idea of him returning to the witch, the idea of going to school tomorrow and acting like his words weren’t still spinning around my brain, the idea of even sleeping soundly tonight.

“Peeta,” I called just as he was about to reach the front door. “Wait!”

He turned towards me, looking puzzled by my outburst. “What’s wrong?”

And I don’t know what came over me. I still can’t place what made me—a girl who had never been decisive a day in her life—fling myself across the room and smash my lips onto his.

He didn’t respond at first. I caught him too completely by surprise. His lips hung there, frozen, as mine pushed against his, with too much force and an overload of desperation.

But I felt an incredible stirring in my chest, an odd sensation that felt akin to a giggle amplified.

And when he finally recovered from the shock of it all, his hands both came to rest on either side of my hips, his mouth began to move against mine, his knees bent to reach my height with more success, and the stirring turned to a fiery spark. I know he felt it too, as the kiss was swiftly disturbed by his wide grin.

“Don’t go back home tonight,” I gasped out, looking up at him, wide-eyed and breathless.

His gaze melted as he took me in, he head bobbing in agreement without even needing to consider my request.

“Okay,” he’d whispered with a dazed smile, his blue eyes impossibly wild and sleepy at the same time.

His expression, his spirit somehow, was contagious, and I found myself somewhere stuck between a laugh and a blush when I replied.

“Okay.”

After that night, Peeta rarely went back home. I had called my mother and let her know I was staying at the cabin, but intentionally eluded telling her that the baker’s son was joining me. We’d spent the entire night talking in front of the fire, making each other laugh. The bashfulness I felt from my unexpected kiss stayed in my gut, causing me to bubble up with embarrassed laughter every so often.

But instead of that making things awkward, it cut the tension pretty smoothly. It was only months later did Peeta confess he’d felt just as nervous and just as shy about spending time with me. He was charismatic, I realize even that first night. Ironically funny. He was nice, in a way I rarely have found anyone to be. And, the more time went on, the more my desire grew to stay close to him. The more often I was around him, the more painfully I missed him when we were apart.

It was only a matter of time until my mother found out—not least of all, because my siblings accidentally caught us kissing in back of the school, a month to the day we first spoke.

I always imagined she’d be strict on me, the firstborn, when it came to dating. Especially in the world we lived in. Especially with my father’s position. I truly thought she’d forbid a relationship until I was of age. Maybe I was wrong about her. Or maybe she just saw how I looked at Peeta and understood that I wasn’t just being careless or rebellious. That whatever magnetic connection I felt towards Peeta wasn’t just an ordinary school-aged fling.

To my surprise as well, my mother seemed to take on a very similar stance to me when it came to Peeta and my father. Keeping the news of this entanglement from her husband’s ears was almost her idea.

“What are you thinking about?” Peeta asks me now, bringing me back to the present moment. His fingers tickle my neck as they brush my hair back behind my ear, touching one of the satin green ribbons weaved throughout my loose braids.

“You,” I reply coyly, shooting him a sly glance as I slip past him to head back towards the kitchen.

“Me?” He calls in mock disbelief. He trails up behind me, catching me by the waist and swinging me into his arms without warning.

“Peeta!” I exclaim, automatically wrapping myself around him as I try to steady my balance midair.

“What, baby?”

“Put me down, baby,” I mock, pressing my nose to his now, rubbing them together.

“I like holding you though,” he whispers, like he’s confessing some huge secret.

“Until your arms gets tired-”

“That was one time, Katniss.”

“I’m just reminding you,” I say with an air of superiority. “You don’t always appreciate holding me.”

At that, his demeanor falls a little. “I do when I realize I won’t be seeing you much in a few days.”

I feel my heart sink now too. As excited as I am at the prospect of my father coming home, after weeks apart, I always have to be a little more careful upon his first days back.

He always likes to spend time at the cabin and go for long walks in the woods upon his return. Spend more time in nature than the indoors, stay far away from people outside our family, sleep under the stars by the lake. The Capitol is apparently luxurious, but in my father’s own words, it is void of any true or natural beauty. Everything is artificial, man-made, concocted and orchestrated. There’s nothing that compares in his mind—or mine either—to a cool breeze on a sunny day spent in the meadow where the dandelions grow tall.

“But I’ll still see you in school?” I say, though my voice comes out as more of a plea. Peeta doesn’t always like to attend school these days, not when he knows his parents can easily track him down there.

His father, the baker himself, took the ambiguous loss of his youngest—his favorite—son particularly hard. It was only a matter of weeks after I intercepted his mother beating him that Peeta definitively decided to sever ties with majority of his family.

I’d like to say he made the choice all on his own but that’d be a lie. I watched as the physical bruises on his skin healed, as he began to peel back emotional layer upon layer to me, as he slowly told me what really had been going on in the Mellark’s family home. And I can’t say that I was impartial to his decision to cut the connection to a mother with a bruising fist and a father who closed his eyes and let it happen.

“Delly’s parents usually make me go to school so…” He shrugs it off, like it’s of no consequence, his arms hoisting me higher against his chest.

But I feel a sudden wave of gratitude towards the Cartwrights. They may be a little too jolly for my liking and their daughter, Delly, maybe can’t take a hint to save her life, but at least they always watch out for Peeta’s well-being. At least they cover for him when his mother come sniffing around and they feed him what they can afford and force him to attend class, where I’ll be able to see him.

“Good,” I murmur, at peace now. My father will be home soon and Peeta will be safely tucked away with his best friend.

I lean down and kiss his nose sweetly, reveling in the tender moment. His lips follow my lead and begin to plant themselves across my chin, underneath my jaw, causing me to squirm and squeal at the sensation.

“So,” he murmurs against my throat. “We have the entire place to ourselves, for the whole night, huh?”

His audacious smile elicits my own. “At least.” My father’s delays usually mean a minimum of two days.

Within a minute, Peeta has me on my back, against the softly quilted bed of my upstairs room. He takes his time helping me out of my clothes before I hurriedly shove his off, impatient and hungry.

He, of course, finds time to crack a joke. “Good thing Archie is too young to come here unchaperoned. Or else we’d never get the chance to do this.”

I roll my eyes and shove his mouth off my collarbone, utterly disgusted now. “Talking about my baby brother is one sure way to turn me off, Peeta.”

Archer, my three-old-brother, was an unexpected surprise, to put it lightly. My parents were done with two girls. My father joked him and my mother were both already set with one clone each, but alas, the year of the Seventieth Hunger Games was a year full of shocks.

A few months before the games that year, the coal mines—the industry Twelve is known for—exploded. Right in the middle of the afternoon, as everyone was obliviously going about their day.

It was a close call for many and one more reason my father is beloved around these parts. If he hadn’t been at the right place, at the right time, if he hadn’t volunteered to go with Prim and her class on a field trip down to the mines that day, there was a chance that no one would have noticed the gas leak.

It was too late to do anything by the time my father pointed it out, but his warning and the fact that people in Twelve take his word very seriously, managed to save the lives the inevitable explosion would have otherwise cost.

Through the outpouring of gratitude, and the overwhelming media coverage my whole family was abruptly bombarded with, my parents made the decision to pull me and Prim from school for a while, to hole up in the remodeled cabin, where no one could find us because of its illegal location.

I’ve never ask and I don't ever want to know when my parents conceived Archer. But about nine months after the vacation from the world, my mother gave birth to a little boy who looked identical to me and my father.

“Sorry,” Peeta whispers with a chuckle, collapsing beside me. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He moves to kiss my stomach, to trace circles on my hips like he always does. But I shake my head, a different request—or more like it, demand—on my mind.

“Tell me the story of how you first fell in love with me?”

Peeta rolls his eyes. Very dramatically. “You mean a year ago?”

“I mean in kindergarten,” I say with a smirk and then let out a shriek of surprise when he pounces on me, his lips attacking my neck.

“Aren’t you tired of that story yet?” He asks, his voice edging on exasperated.

“You never tire of a classic.” I give him a pout, knowing he never refuses me anything when I pull that trick.

I’m right, as per usual. “Fine,” he relents, but his eyes tell me that he enjoys telling this tale more than he leads on. “Come here.” He holds open his arms and waits for me to crawl into them, to settle against his chest.

I lay there for a long moment, my pointer finger running up and down the center of his bicep, as my ear rests against his heartbeat, patiently waiting for him to begin.

“It was the very first day of school. You were wearing a red, velvet dress…”

Read the rest on AO3

#katnissmellarkkkk #prompt 59 #Springtime edition 2021 #submission

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lostinfantasyworlds · 2 years

Note

What was the Inspiration for Under the Northern Lights?

Ahhhh thank you so much for this question @ruddcatha!!!! ❤️

Put under a cut because I ramble a little, and also included a sample of my own photography!

So I had the idea back in February, when there was tons of snow on the ground. All I remember was looking out my upstairs bathroom window at my backyard covered in snow, and just being hit with this whole ass story idea out of nowhere😂.

It always means SO much to me when people have left comments on UTNL about the imagery, because that's really been such a key element for me. That story has come to me in images, and has played out like a movie in my head. I imagine, vividly, every scene practically on a shot-by-shot basis, thinking of what the lighting would be like, what the music would sound like, how the shot would be framed, etc.

So pretty much what happened is that when I was looking at my snowy backyard, I just had this overwhelming image/feeling come to me of that beautiful, peaceful, almost otherworldly feeling you get when looking out at an expanse of glittering moonlit snow. And I basically just wanted to try and capture that feeling in a story...with InuKag.

And then there are just soo many aspects of that story that are inspired by my own life. Kagome is a photographer, because I am a photographer on the side/work for a photographer. I've also always had an interest in night photography ever since I was young, and have messed around with it over time. I’m nowhere near as good as Kagome is in this story hahaha, but here’s a sampling of some of my night photography over the years from my various travels (the top two are from the Berkshires in MA, the bottom left is a self-timer shot from my honeymoon in Mexico, and the bottom right are from Acadia National Park in ME)

And I mentioned this in the author’s notes, but Yugen Magazine is a concept I came up with back in college for my Editorial Design class, and it fit in perfectly with the basic idea of her being a photographer that travels around all the time, so I also got to indulge in that idea as well.

The other inspiration was actually just...angst 😆. I really wanted to explore that bittersweet 'I'm so in love with you but I know I have to let you go' type of angst because it’s my absolute favorite to read/write. So I wanted a story that would let me dig deep into that, while still eventually arriving at a happy ending.

All of that combined into the idea of Inuyasha and Kagome falling in love in a beautiful winter wonderland, having to say a heartwrenching goodbye, and then finding a way back to each other.

SERIOUSLY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS QUESTION ❤️. I could talk about UTNL endlessly hahahaha so I appreciate the opportunity to indulge!

#ama #ask me anything #utnl #under the northern lights #untl extras

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plan-d-to-i · 3 years

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If there any chance that someone want to write a time travel fix it with jc bashing with a premise of going back to gusu study arc with the 4 junior ducklings coming with wangxian what do u suggest to be added to make it interesting? (Totally not asking for ideas cause i want to wrote it and idk where tf i should do)

hahaha I'm not very good at changing the story. They're kids so I don't think their plots will be terribly elegant or efficient lol.Maybe they'll be overly elaborate lol. It would be nice if they could find a way to give LQR a talking-to and convince him to have WWX remain in Cloud Recesses - so he can shape such a talented individual into the best possible person for the good of all (and other manipulative tactics). Then ofc they'd have to convince WWX he should stay in the Cloud Recesses. Maybe guilt him into thinking he needs to leave Lotus Pier for jc's good, so jc can finaLLy have the chance to shine lol- This is absolute bullshit ofc, jc couldn't shine if you dropped him into a vat of glitter, but the best way to get altruistic people like WWX to do good stuff for themselves is to make them think they're doing something good for someone else- He wouldn't leave the Jiangs bc they're treating him poorly, he'd leave the Jiangs if he thought it was for their own good.

There's a lot you can do w time travel ig. Does WWX know they're from the future. Did WWX's future consciousness get dragged back into his teenage body? Does LWJ know. Is it only the juniors? THey're not born yet how are they explaining their presence lol? Do they have to sneak around? Do they drop a love confession letter to LWJ "from WWX" and to WWX "from LWJ". -Sizhui imitating his dad's calligraphy bc he's the only one who's writing is neat enough. Jin Ling telling jc off for always being so negative towards WWX which is present time canon but now they're the same age so he can't smack Jin Ling to the ground.

#answers #head canons #OOC

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sugarcubetikki · 3 years

Text

why are you in my friend’s clothes?

Summary: Firstly, Chat Noir has had a bad day. Secondly, why the hell was Ladybug in Marinette’s clothes?

Notes: Wrote this little one-shot to celebrate 500 followers (more like 561 now) but tysm! I literally don’t even know how I have these many-I swear most of the content I post is like random shit. But thank you! I really appreciate it so here’s a treat : D

P.S. THIS IS POST MR. PIGEON 72

AO3

Adrien Agreste was shaking with that feeling of utmost disappointment, that feeling he had harboured getting used to.

Once again, that was another dreary, awful day that he was drowning away into oblivion through a warm lactaid beverage.

He chugged his flask of milk under the thick layer of clouds that masked the ethereal twinkle of the stars embedded in the night sky. Huffing frustratedly into his warm woollen scarf (the only worthwhile present his father had gotten him), he lounged lazily on the rooftop in solitude. No Ladybug there to brighten up his world even in the murkiest times.

But it was fine. It was fine. She really needed it. Being guardian was weighing down on her. He understood that. She could miss as many patrols as she wanted.

He still really missed her though.

Restlessly, he sprang to his feet and languidly leapt across the rooftops, the cold rush of the wind pounding in his ears. But he didn’t really care. He was used to that too.

He took little sips from his flask at regular intervals between each jump. It was solace to all the unpleasantness that was swirling within him right now.

At about the fifth jump, when he was chugging down some milk, quite a strange sight caught his eye.

It was Ladybug.

And she was on Marinette’s balcony.

In a polka-dot bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her head.

What?

He choked a little, and the milk in his mouth sprayed out, accompanied with some rather loud coughs. And it seemed that he had caught the fair lady’s attention.

Her eyes widened and her face blazed red at his presence. Lips spreading into a sheepish smile, she waved reluctantly. He simply stared at her with his mouth agape. A blur of questions bursting into his head.

“M-milady?” He leapt to Marinette’s balcony, landing right in front of her. As he met her eyes once again, he noticed the large pair of glasses perched on her nose. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh! Hi! Hi, Ch-chat!” She squeaked, her voice an octave higher than usual, an uncannily wide smile, and her arms splaying all over the place. “I-well-you see… I’m here to relax, you know. Marinette and me…w-we’re friends! Yeah. We’re friends.”

“You are?” He arched his brow. A painful pang struck his heart. He just didn’t know what to say…when she said, she couldn’t make it, he wasn’t really expecting this. He expected her to be busy with guardian stuff or something. Not that she shouldn’t relax! She totally should! She was completely allow-

He just didn’t know.

He didn’t really know why he was upset. He just was. He didn’t expect her to be on Marinette’s balcony like this. And that…didn’t make him feel so good…

“W-w-well. Y-you s-see. My kwami loves sweet stuff! And M-marinette pretty much lives in a bakery. So, I come here often to get snacks for her! Absolutely.” Ladybug replied frantically to his question, and took a long sip into her mug of…hot chocolate?

He bit his lip and looked her up and down again. She was in Marinette’s clothes. Why was she in her clothes? He had the most insane hunch gnawing at the back of his head. He could just say those couple words now. But he didn’t want to jump to conclusions just yet, so he went…

“Did she lend you her clothes?” He asked stupidly, slurping into his flask of milk, gloved hand perched on the railing.

“I-oh-yeah. Yeah, she did. Like an hour ago or so, she’s not here now though. Went to her best friend’s place for a sleepover…hahaha” Amidst her rambling, Ladybug reached out to place her own hand on the railing. Mere inches from his own. He had the urge to reach out and caress it under his own. But with everything in his head, he lacked boldness in the moment. “Sh-she was nice enough to…you know.”

“I know.” A smile glittered onto his face. “Marinette’s incredible.”

For no reason, Ladybug’s face grew a brighter shade of red at that compliment. One that wasn’t directed towards her. But he chose not to question it, and instead turned to the murky sky, his mind whirring for a surreal joke to cover up all the awkwardness. After all, he didn’t really have anything else…valid to say.

“Do you- “

“I’m really- “

They simultaneously say, voices overlapping over one another, making them stop and stare at the other sheepishly.

“You go first.” Ladybug said, fidgeting with a loose strand of her hair.

“No, milady, I was about to crack a stupid joke.” He tells her with a gentle smile. “I’m sure whatever you have to say is far more important.”

Hesitantly, she stared at him for a moment, with doubt plastered in her eyes. He widened his smile at that, letting her know it was okay. Satisfied, she reciprocated his smile, and her uncertainty faded away into amusement. Playfully leaning in, she hooked her arm around his own.

“Thank you, kitty. Make sure you reserve the joke for later.” She bopped his nose affectionately. “You know I love them.”

“Good for you then, you’re never getting rid of this clown of a partner who’s crazy for you.” He played along with a wink.

Eyes filling with joy, she lightly chuckled and took a sip into her mug of hot chocolate. Making her laugh always filled this sense of pleasure within him.

“So…” she continued. “I just want you to know that I’m really sorry for bailing on you today at patrol…I-I j-just I didn’t mean to intentionally h-hurt you or anything. It’s just th-that I needed some time to myself…to relax…and by relaxation, I didn’t expect myself to be a mess on a-uh-civilian’s balcony. It…well…just happened.”

Her apology caught him off guard with a little gasp. But he was able to compose himself and gave her a brighter and even more genuine smile than before.

“I-thank you for apologising, milady. I appreciate it and I do understand.” He shot her a gentle glance taking a sip into his flask. “I have to admit…I was hurt by seeing you here but I…I felt better when you apologised. I mean it when I said I really appreciated it.”

A mixture of surprise and shock filled her face, his genuineness had her stunned, but it was short-lived. Her face melted into a very pretty smile and it made her face shine even more brighter under the golden glow of the balcony light.

He really was glad that she had apologised though. If his father was in her place, he would’ve ignored it completely and turned the blame on him, saying he was too sensitive for feeling hurt over something so trivial.

Like he’d done today when Adrien found out that his Chinese lesson had been cancelled and neither Nathalie nor father had informed him of this. He’d sat there waiting for his teacher for ages. He didn’t even know it was cancelled until dinner when Nathalie told him.

It was one of the few days his father sat to have lunch with him. And the only thing Adrien had done was express his disappointment on how he missed walking home with Marinette today unnecessarily.

His father wasn’t amused. And had said that he shouldn’t be feeling hurt over missing such trivial events. Of course. Spending time with a friend was so trivial to father. How could he have forgotten?

It hurt. It wasn’t fair. It was these evenings that hit him with the constant reminder how difficult it was for him to have fun.

That’s why he really appreciated that he was spending the last hours of the day with his lady. Where most of his fun moments lay.

“You’ve got a milk moustache.” She chuckled and leaned in to wipe it off with her gloved hand. “There you go.”

“I am a cat.” He playfully remarked, raising his shoulders in pride. “This is how we cats drink milk. Milk moustaches are the best way to go.”

“I’m not a cat but I do agree with you.” She said with a spark of confidence in her eyes. Her competitive self took a large gulp into her mug of hot chocolate. Upon lowering the mug, she grinned triumphantly with a thick layer of brown spread above her lips.

“That’s naughty.” He reached to wipe off her moustache. “You got one intentionally.”

“It was still bigger than yours.”

“Still intentional.” He pouted in faux annoyance, and she laughed, her hand automatically coming to rest on his chest almost to contain herself.

As usual, there went the freezing of his breath and rapid beating of his heart. Something about Ladybug that he would’ve never expected in the start: she was a very touchy person.

Sure. She laid all hands off him during akuma attacks and when she was in an all-business mode. However, it was moments like these where she would open up, where he got to see more of the girl behind the mask. And he really treasured these moments.

Her laughter came to a halt and her eyes focused on her chest. Fingers crawling up to play with the ends of his scarf, she gazed at it quite fascinatedly. Too fascinatedly.

“I-is that Adrien’s scarf?” The words bluntly slipped out of her mouth.

“Wh-what? A-adrien?”

“Uh-“She sprang away from him, seeming startled that she had said that out loud. “I-well-you know-that looks like Adrien Agreste’s scarf!”

“I-uh-well- “He tensed and looked at her with wide eyes. There was no way he could reveal his identity like this. “I-I-borrowed it from him! You know! Just like you did from M-marinette!”

“Ah- “Her mouth flapped open and closed a couple of times. “Th-that m-makes sense.”

The bluenette turned away with pursed lips and speechlessly stared ahead.

“Yeah.” He replied in relief. Good. No identity prying questions. Now, she wouldn’t know he’s Adri-wait a minute.

“H-how did you know this was Adrien’s scarf?”

Her head merely turned to him with a dumbfounded expression and she heavily blinked.

“I-well-I recognise the stitching! You know! I’m good with this kind of stuff-very into fashion-and he wore it a couple of times when I saved him you know!”

“I- “He didn’t recall wearing the scarf anytime around her. Had he? He wasn’t sure. She had saved him as Adrien plenty of times. He didn’t remember everything so maybe…it was plausible.

“Oh…okay then.” He simply said. “Looks like we’re both wrapped up in clothes lended from a civilian friend, right?”

He wanted to bonk his head onto the railing right then and there. Stupid thing to say, Agreste.

“Y-yeah.” She replied uneasily. “F-from civilian friends.”

“Marine-Oh!” Another voice shook the tense atmosphere, both heroes turned around in alarm.

A surprised Alya Cesaire greeted them as she peeped out from the trapdoor.

Hold on a second.

“Alya?” He questioned in shock. “I thought Marinette was at Alya’s place for a sleepover, but if she’s here then- “

He suspiciously arched a brow at Ladybug. Her eyes widened for the umpteenth time that night and she blankly looked at Alya.

“A-alya! W-what are you doing here! I th-thought M-marinette and y-you were meant to be at a sleepover at your house! Right?” Ladybug mimicked a dramatic tone of surprise. But he wasn’t falling for it.

“Ah…right…you se- “

“I think I know what’s going on.” He cut Alya off. The two girls hastily exchanged frantic glances.

“Look, Chat- “Ladybug commenced.

“I know she didn’t tell you bu- “Alya began to explain at the same time.

“You’re dating Marinette and Alya’s the only one that knows.” He cut both off. Feeling relieved to finally let go of that hunch.

“What?” Both girls yelled flabbergasted.

“It all makes sense! You’re on her balcony! In her clothes- “

“It’s not-it’s not what it looks like-I-wait up-you’re in Adrien’s clothes?” Ladybug paused in a frenzy realisation. “If you’re saying me being Marinette’s clothes means I’m dating her, is that confirmation that you’re dating Adrien?”

“What! No-I-you didn’t deny it.” He took a step forward and pointed accusingly at her.

“That’s not the point! You’re the one who’s dating Adrien.” She reciprocated his body language.

“Well, you’re dating Marinette.”

Brows narrowed with competitive expressions. They stood toe-to-toe with Alya giving them a what-the-hell look.

“I’m not even going to get involved in this…” Alya facepalmed and disappeared under the trapdoor.

“You’re not denying it!”

“You’re not denying it either!”

They bickered back and forth about the whole dating chaos, taking swigs from their beverages every now and then, from the way they argued, it was almost like they were drunk on milk. The clouds began to clear the sky, and the moonlight began to cast a lovely glow on the city.

“Look…to resolve this…let’s never talk about this night again, got it?” Ladybug concluded, taking one last sip into her mug.

“Fine.” Chat raised a hand in surrender, sipping onto his own flask. “I have to make my leave anyway.”

“Okay.” Ladybug huffed. “Have fun seeing your boyfriend!”

“Well…you have fun seeing your girlfriend, milady.” He fluttered his eyelashes playfully. “I’m sure she’s just as nice, pretty, and talented as you said.”

“I never said tha- “

“See you, milady!” He cut her off again and leapt away on his baton, catching one last glimpse of an adorable pout on her face.

It was nights like this that always brought a smile onto his face even on the most miserable of days. And that’s exactly why he loved spending time with her.

Despite the whole situation with her thinking he was dating-well-himself. Ugh.

Wait a second…

She was dating Marinette.

The multitalented, insanely kind and endearing Marinette.

Oh crap. He was screwed.

#sugar writes #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfiction #ml fanfic #ml season 4 #ml spoilers #mr pigeon 72 #ml fanon #ladynoir #ml love square #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng

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