#and he nearly fucking vibrates with excitement bc oh it is ON

[thatdeadaquarius]

I was playing Genius Invocation yesterday, but out of nowhere this idea came to me like tge whispers of an old god.

How would the characters react to knowing they are the creator's favorite card? (Mine are Beidou and Ningguang, but if you are confortable, I would like to know yours as well)

AHDAALLL I HAVENT PLAYED TGI CARD GAME ENOUGH!! SO FOR NOW I RLLY LOVE THE WAY CYNO AND KAEYA'S ART LOOKS (tho diluc does look shmall in his hehe)

Thank you for your patience!! Sorry this is SO FUCKING late :0 and if it’s bad! i havent rlly liked my writing the past couple pieces, so i stuck with some fun headcanons i thought of while kicking me feet and twirling my hair over this question hehehe

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them only)

Planet: General SAGAU/Isekai Stuff :)

Orbit: Headcanons

Stars: Beidou, Ningguang, Kaeya, Cyno

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Cussing & Trigger Warnings: None Known.

☆

Beidou:

BIGGEST EGO BOOSTS OF HER LIFE LMAO

SHE WOULD LITERALLY SUBTLY FLEX EVERYTIME UR AROUND IM CRYINGGG

Every fucking port knows she’s a favored one, every goddamn pirate knows it atp, hell maybe even some abyss monsters at sea too-

(Kazuha’s happy for her, but also lowkey jealous)

literally got one of her cards framed and hung in her captain’s quarters, and insisted you sign it omfg-

Ningguang isnt surprised tbh, (she knows u like strong women lol)

Ningguang:

…she gives one of the most smug smirks of her entire fucking life.

All of Liyue is gushing for her, not that she isn’t also excited on the inside, she’s just more proud than anything on the outside/for appearances

Literally set up a whole date meeting that felt like it was about to turn into a goddamn wedding proposal

I’m talking giving handcarved furniture, household necessities but they’re in pretty colors that all match (like a gold tea kettle, gold throw blanket, etc.)

Full nine-yards different kinds of teas, cakes, and all accustomed to your taste

so if u dislike super sweet stuff there are more savory items, the teas can be more bitter, or if u love sweets, this woman is giving you a bakery basically every day for nearly 2 weeks, u dont have enough space in the cabinet for all these teas- help-

Kaeya:

so fucking smug on the outside, def brags about it in Angel’s Share and he’ll only just be tipsy he’s so fucking excited to talk abt it

whenever conversations end or get a lull, he just, “So anyway, our All-Powerful Guide, really likes my TCG card, maybe even above yours, Diluc…”

pls stop him he’s annoying Diluc, and slowly other patrons 😭 (there are bar rules posted on the wall, and Diluc adds one, not for the first time, specifically for Kaeya to stop talking about TCG while in the bar LMAO)

Now all Kaeya has to do is just pull out his card (cough he’s constantly got it in his pocket, the one he asked u to sign cough)

Rosaria just looks the other way like if she can’t see it it’s not real, Diluc will literally be in the middle of making a drink for one of them and just leave it halfdone and attend to somebody else, Venti’s eye twitches-

and the entire bar just groans too LMAOOO

(have a meme I made just for you <3 )

Cyno:

oh no.

Look what you’ve done, you’ve seduced the General Mahamatra!!

Take responsibility, play TCG with him every time you see him now lmao, the only reason all of Sumeru knows you like his card (which makes it all that more desirable to ppl who do play, and collectors)

is bc he talked to Tighnari about it for hourssss, and then it made it’s way down the grapevine, and if they didn’t find out that way, the other was just seeing the usually stern and formidable General Mahamatra nearly vibrate out of his headpiece when you come near him every time you visit

Cyno weirdly gains like, 20x the luck when ur either playing against him, or sitting watching him play someone else, he’s struggling to find partners tbh bc “you’re my lucky charm? Of course I’m winning more.”

When you initially told him about him being one of ur fav cards, he literally looked like there was a loading sign over his head… Then proceeded to nearly break your ribs hugging you so hard, and nearly take ur eye out with the ears on his headpiece lol

☆

Sorry if all my writings shit for these past 2 posts! Idk im just thinking its not so good rn and idk how to fix it-

anyway I’ve started playing Breath of the Wild over the past like 2-3 months I think, and it’s amazingggg

I may or may not be both getting gender envy and also a huge crush on Link help-

Safe Travels Wandering Lantern,

💀♒

♡the beloveds♡

An iced coffee? For me??

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche

#hello i bring more bad writing #kinda short this time #hope u dont mind #love u guys have a good weekend!! #thank you so much again for the ask and sorry again it was so late!! #genshin sagau #genshin isekai #sagau #genshin imagines #my asks #gender neutral reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin impact isekai #genshin fluff

[lincolndjarin]

Oh Honey. ✩ Chapter 2

chapter two : beware the jabberwock

series masterlist ao3 kofi main masterlist

a/n : took a while to get out but here is chapter two !!! i have a lot of fun writing this fic bc the pacing is so much different than bks but i'm excited to get this chapter out bc i loved writing it so much and i'm so happy that people enjoy this fic so far !!

pairing : monster!joel miller x mortician!reader

rating : 18+ mdni - explicit content, read all warnings

word count : 15.1k (i'm so sorry idk what happened)

summary : new relationships are tricky, especially when your boyfriend likes to disappear for several days with no explanation.

warnings, etc. : dub con?? i'm gonna tag this with that because the sex is like weird in this?? a lot of it is angry or reluctant from one participant at times so i'm gonna tag it just in case, soulmates au, no outbreak au, language, graphic descriptions of violence, gore, fear, feeling of being stalked, feeling of being watched, me making up things regarding the embalming process, animal death, graphic description of the mortuary process, menstruation, derealization (sort of), smut, oral f!recieving, p in v, biting, just like a lot of mouth stuff lmao, cum eating, rough sex, degradation, sort of dumbification, joel is a bit beastly, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, praise, use of the pet name bunny, nightmares, periods, menstruation, joel is a terrible boyfriend, angry sex, injury, blood, blood drinking, manipulation, not a/b/o but something i made up that is sort of along those lines??, body horror, monsters, predator & prey dynamic, a lot of stuff happens this chap so i might have missed some sorry!!, no physical description of reader but joel is described as being abnormally strong and does pick reader up, there is no actual fucking of a monster yet we can't just do that right out the gate it's a thriller it destroys the thrill if they fuck immediately, that being said; this is a monster fucker fic - proceed accordingly

comments and reblogs are appreciated!

You don’t sleep well after your dream.

Just staring up at the ceiling until the sun is starting to shine through the windows. 

Not that you’ve been sleeping well recently to begin with. And Joel suddenly feels less safe, the grip of his arms around you feels more like it’s trapping you rather than protecting you.

It’s Joel. 

Just take a deep breath. 

It’s Joel. Joel Miller. Sweet, handsome, kind, Joel Miller. Joel who came back, even though you assumed you’d never hear from him again. 

It was nothing more than a dream. 

Stop making up monsters. 

You slip out of his arms, quietly making your way over to the fridge to try and find something to make for breakfast. You haven’t gone shopping in a while, all you’ve got is half a loaf of bread and a few eggs. Good enough. Clicking the stove on you set a pan down, cracking the eggs with a small sizzle as they hit the metal. 

“Up already?” You didn’t hear him wake but when you turn he’s propped up on an elbow watching you. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Not technically a lie. 

“Are you okay?” He sits up a bit and you can feel him sizing you up. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

You aren’t really. 

But you can’t really tell him why, so why bother. 

He stretches his arms above his head as he gets up, making his way over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and resting his head on your shoulder as you flip the eggs. 

“Hungry?” You’re desperate to think about anything but your dreams, as you speak his grip around your waist tightens. 

“I could eat.” You shudder for several reasons as his teeth graze your neck before nipping at you. 

“These should be done in a few minutes, I just gotta make the toast.” You laugh softly as the scruff of his beard brushes against you. 

He makes it too easy to forget your fears. 

“Mhmm.” The vibrations from his humming make you gasp, nearly dropping the spatula in your hand as he squeezes you for a moment. You work around his advances, putting the bread in the toaster as one of his hands slips under your shirt. 

“How many do you want?” You hold up the bread in front of him, trying to get him to pay attention but it’s getting difficult to stay focused on your task when something is currently pressing against your ass. 

“I think I’m fine with just this.” He squeezes the bare flesh of your torso making you yelp a bit as his hand drifts further up. 

“What happened to your third date rule?” He groans as you reach over to the stove, turning the burner off to keep the eggs from burning before turning around in his arms, your back pressed against the counter. 

“We should go to dinner tonight.” He smiles before leaning forward to kiss you but you put a hand between his mouth and yours. 

“What makes you think I’ve forgiven you enough to warrant another date?”

He pouts. His bottom lip sticking out a bit as he frowns. 

“Wouldn’t matter if I did anyway, it would only be the second date.” You shrug. 

“Last night was the second date.” He says rather matter of factly. 

“That didn’t count.” You can’t help the smile that threatens to form on your as his frown deepens. 

“So you wanna wait for two more dates.” 

Definitely not.

“Tonight?” For a brief moment you try and think of anything else you might be doing but you don’t exactly have a social life here in Honey. 

“S’gotta be, I’m spending tomorrow with Ellie and then I’ll be busy with work, gotta catch up on some things.”

Why would he need to catch up if he’s been busy all week?

“Tonight works.” Even after what he put you through you still feel the strangest pull towards him, dragging him to the table with you as you set down a couple plates. 

“I’ll be here at eight?” He sits, an accomplished look on his face. 

“Works for me.”

You have an uneventful breakfast. 

Neither one of you talks about his disappearing act. And eventually he has to leave for work and so do you, so he gets his things together once you eat.

“Get dressed, I’ll drive you to Maria’s, I gotta pick up Tommy anyway.” He takes a sip of whatever juice you had left over in the fridge as you nod, finding something clean to wear before following him out to the truck. 

He makes it too easy.

He smiles like everything is fine and he holds your hand as he drives.

“Have a good day at work.” You return his smile and he leans across the truck cab to kiss your forehead.

“You too, I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you tonight.” You wave at him as you walk up to the house, Tommy’s just leaving, giving you a pat on the back as he passes you before jumping in the truck with his brother. With a weak smile you watch them go. 

There are no bodies today.

It’s a paperwork day for both of you. You know Maria’s dying to ask about what happened but she never does, just staring up at you every once in a while, always looking like she’s about to say something before choosing not to. 

You decide to throw her a bone. 

“I’m having dinner with Joel tonight.” You can’t ignore the surprised smile on her face. 

“I’m glad you two seem to be getting along.”

“Yeah, apparently he got caught up in his work for a few days.” You try and get a reaction out of her but she goes emotionless, giving you only a hum in response. 

You don’t try to start another conversation after that until you say good night at the end of your shift. Giving her a small wave before stepping into the misty evening air. 

You keep your eyes on the trees the entire walk home but nothing seems out of sorts and before you know it you’re safe in the camper.

You’re dressed and ready to go when the truck pulls up. You aren’t sure where exactly you’re supposed to be going but you’re ready nonetheless, deciding on just jeans and a plain tshirt. What you aren’t expecting is when Joel steps out of the truck with grocery bags and a grin plastered on his face.

“I thought we could cook together.” He says as he makes his way up the steps inside. 

“You know how to cook?” You try not to sound as surprised as you are but he just laughs. 

“I have two kids. I know how to cook.” He sets the bag on the counter and you open it, he’s brought bread, cheese, and cans of tomato soup. 

“What exactly do you plan on cooking?”

“Grilled cheese.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and any worries you had about tonight go out the window. 

“You really went all out for tonight.” You raise your eyebrows at him.

He nods, searching through the cabinets for a pan and a pot. 

“When you said cook together you meant you cook and I watch, right?” You lift yourself up onto the counter as he lights the stove. 

“Obviously.” He sets everything down and you watch him fish around the top of the fridge for a few seconds before pulling down a rather dusty old radio. “I knew she had one somewhere.” He grins as he sets it down beside you, plugging it in and fidgeting with the knobs until the static turns into music. 

You don’t recognize the song that plays but he does, as he hums along, opening the two cans, emptying them into the pot. 

You had been so nervous about tonight, nightmares aside, you had expected a totally different Joel, the kind of person who ignores you for a week and expects immediate forgiveness. But instead he continues to be just Joel. Joel, who’s very presence lulls you into an overpowering sense of comfort. The moment he stepped inside the camper the entire space became heavy with his cologne, everything smells like the forest, as if you’re surrounded by pine trees and not the four walls around you. 

“We should do something this week.” He turns to you as he butters the bread, setting it in the pan with a quiet sizzle. 

“Don’t you have work, and Ellie?” You tear open the plastic wrapper on the cheese, handing him a few slices. 

“I do, but I can get Tommy to watch her for a night.” He tosses them down onto the bread before opening a drawer, riffling around until he finds a spatula. 

You hum along to the music with him when the song changes to something familiar, watching him cook. 

He looks at home with you, like he belongs right here. 

You both laugh your way through dinner, it’s outrageous how charming he can be, he tells you about the house he’s building, and how his brother ordered the wrong kind of cement. (You didn’t know there was a wrong kind.) And he tells you about how Ellie’s picked up some curse words, apparently there’s quite an argument happening between the Millers regarding who she learned them from. 

You’ve always been hesitant to talk about work, especially on dates because you never know how people are going to react. Not everyone has the same relationship with death that you have. So when he says, how has working for Maria been? You aren’t exactly sure what to say. 

“It’s good.” 

“That’s it? It’s good?” He looks up at you, giving you that lopsided fucking smirk and you can’t help but just melt at the sight of it. 

“We’ve been… busy, lots of work the last few days, now we’re just funeral planning, this week we’ve got a funeral pretty much everyday, Maria’s swamped.” 

“What made you choose this line of work?”

You never really know how to answer that question. 

“Because I like to play with dead things.” Never gets the laugh you hope for, and the real answer just makes you sad.  

“I like to fix things.” You instinctively break eye contact, staring down at an uneven floor board you’d never noticed before under the table. “I like knowing that I can help people in that way, to fix them one last time.” 

For a moment he doesn’t speak, when you look back up at him he simply looks at you with something that resembles yearning. 

“That’s nice.” 

You’re glad he thinks so. 

He takes the dishes, rinsing them in the sink despite your protests. 

Your palms are getting clammy. 

This is, by his count, your third date. 

Is it weird that this feels scheduled? It was different when you’d brought him home after your first date, that felt natural, your body innately wanted to be with him. How do you even start this kind of thing when it feels so planned? You both know what you want but it feels strange to just outright say, so is this the part where we have sex? 

He dries his hands on his jeans and clears his throat as he turns back to you, holding his hand out, you aren’t really sure what he’s doing until he pulls you up from your seat, wrapping his other arm around your waist.

It isn’t the kind of song you can slow dance to, it’s fast and upbeat.

But as far as you can tell, Joel isn’t the kind of guy who dances in the first place, so you bring your free hand up to his shoulder and join him in his attempts to dance. 

I heat up, I can't cool down

You got me spinning

There isn’t a lot of floor space in the camper but he makes it work by holding you close and mostly just spinning you as he nods along to the music.

'Round and 'round

'Round and 'round and 'round it goes

If his goal was to put you at ease then it’s working, any remaining nerves you have fizzled out completely. You laugh in earnest, not out of fear, as he bumps his nose against yours. 

Where it stops nobody knows

Every time you call my name

I heat up like a burning flame

Burning flame full of desire

Kiss me baby, let the fire get higher

He keeps his forehead flush with yours as you continue to sway your hips back and forth to the beat, the both of you laughing and spinning, you watch curiously as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. 

Abra abracadabra

I wanna reach out and grab ya

Abra abracadabra

Abracadabra

With a satisfied sigh he opens his eyes, his gaze going from simple infatuation to something darker. When the song ends he pulls you close, so you’re chest to chest and reaches over, turning down the radio. 

“So…” You can’t stop smiling as you stare at him through your lashes. 

“So.” He gently guides you, his hands on your hips as he walks you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. 

“I’ve got a long day tomorrow, I should probably get some sleep.” You give him an exaggerated yawn and point at the bed, plastering a mock apologetic look on your face. 

“You’re really funny.” He leans down to give you a chaste kiss before picking you up. His strength is still a wonder to you. 

The way he throws you down onto your bed makes you erupt into a fit of giggles but he certainly isn’t laughing anymore as he drags you by your ankles to the edge of the mattress, a look of concentration on his face now. 

“Joel!” You shriek as you hear the tearing of the zipper on your jeans. 

“M’sorry.” He grumbles, making no effort to slow down as he tugs them down. 

He doesn’t sound sorry.

“It’s a zipper, just unzip it for Christ's sake.” His sudden change in demeanor leaves you a little breathless, in the blink of an eye he’s gone from remarkably gentle to practically unhinged.

“S’too late for that.” He groans softly as he kneels on the camper floor, throwing your legs over his shoulders. 

“You owe me a new pair-” Your voice trails off into a stuttered moan as his mouth latches onto the front of your panties, dragging his tongue over the wet spot that’s been forming all night. 

“We can go to the mall sometime this week.” He mumbles against your cunt before you feel his teeth grazing the fabric before tearing it apart completely. 

“Jesus, Joel!” Instinctively your hands grip his hair as he buries his face between your legs. 

How sharp are his teeth? 

He’s all consuming. Like he’s trying to lay claim to every single part of you. And he’s loud, it’s a good thing you don’t have neighbors. Lewd slurping noises as he laps at your dripping hole like it’s his fucking job. 

He flattens his tongue, dragging it through your folds, for a moment you aren’t sure what he’s doing, but it feels fucking amazing. The way his tongue moves in and out of you, occasionally drawing a lazy circle around your clit, it isn’t like anything anyones ever done before. It takes you a moment to realize that he isn’t necessarily trying to make you feel good (despite the effect it may be having on you,) you’re pretty sure he’s tasting you. 

Drinking you in. If he’s trying to get you off it’s only because he wants more. 

“S’ so sweet.” He mumbles against your thigh, biting the meat there making you cry out a bit before he returns to his work between your legs. 

“Joel- fuck, Joel please.” You manage to stutter out between gasps, when did he become so gruff? You never could have predicted that he would be like this in bed, his grip on you is certain to leave bruises and you can barely think straight after just a few minutes with his head between your thighs. The noises he makes as his lips wrap around your clit are down right pornagraphic. Your vision is starting to go white around the edges as he does the first gentle thing since he started, sucking that bundle of nerves almost lazily. Through shuttered breaths you manage to mumble out his name a few more times your vision whites out completely. 

You’re a little surprised at how quickly he manages to pull an orgasm from you, your skin coated in a thin sheen of sweat as you sit up, pulling him up by his hair as you crash your lips against his, tasting your own slick on his tongue. He moves so feverishly as you feel his hands spreading you again, teasing your entrance with two fingers before slowly pushing them in. 

“Joel- oh my god-” He silences your rambling with his mouth again, swallowing your groan once he’s knuckle deep inside you. His brows furrow in concentration as he starts to pump them in and out of you. “P-please.” You stammer out. 

It’s such a sharp contrast to the Joel you’re used to, he’s so… unruly. 

“So fucking tight.” He mutters before grinding his palm against your clit, pulling another series of gasps from your throat. “Such a pretty, tight, wet cunt.” He whispers against your jaw and you feel a third finger pushing into you. 

You hadn’t expected him to be so vulgar, turns out he’s only all southern manners outside of the bedroom. You’re starting to see stars all over again as you feel the stretch of his thick fingers, he nips at your jaw before pressing them in deep, focusing on grinding the heel of his palm into your clit until you’re soaking his hand, hands tugging at his hair as a second orgasm is ripped out of you with a shudder. Your head falls back with a noisy whine, you can’t decide if you want more or less, his touch burns your skin but you feel so cold without it.  

“Please, please Joel.” You exhale the words, scratching lightly at his shoulders with a whine. 

“Tell me what you want.” His voice is lower than ever and you watch as he unzips his jeans, shoving them off and taking his cock in between his fingers, still slick with your release. Your eyes go wide as he strokes himself a few times, he’s thick, hefty, you’re trying not to stare slack-jawed at the way he fills his own hand.  You grab the bottom of his shirt, pulling it off in an attempt to feel more of his skin against you.

“Fuck me… please.” You tack on the please at the end hoping he doesn’t make you wait much longer as you gawk at his pretty tan skin. You don’t even know where to look, you run your fingers through the coarse sprinkle of black and gray hair on his chest as he crawls further up the bed to hover above you.

He takes your thighs, pushing them up against your stomach, his eyes dark with something reminiscent of hunger. You hook your own arms around your knees to keep yourself in that position as he takes hold of his cock once more, guiding himself into you with a strangled groan.

“Christ…” He mumbles under his breath as he slides just the tip of himself in, your own breath hitching at the size of him. He tilts head town, pressing a soft kiss to your chin. 

He splays his palms out on your thighs, leveraging himself as he carefully rocks his hips back and forth, slowly working himself into you. The camper fills with the sounds of your collective noises. Joel is loud. Grunting and growling as he fully buries himself in your heat. 

He scans your face for signs of distress, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, the tiniest sting from the stretch pulls a whine out of you but you only nod as he stares into your eyes. 

“More, Joel.”

Once he has your approval he starts moving, setting a pace that for a few thrusts is slow before picking up. Quickly becoming downright brutal, every slam of his pelvis against yours drives his cock deeper into you. He feels as if he was made for this, he’s just big enough that it doesn’t hurt, simply an overwhelming feeling of fullness. 

Your body begins to tense up all over again, you wrap your arms around his torso as much as you can in this position, scratching at his back. He leans forward, going in for a kiss before moving around your face, kissing your jaw, forehead, nose, and temples. When he kisses the apples of your cheeks you feel his tongue darting out. 

Did he just lick up a tear? 

He snaps his hips forward, disrupting your train of thought, his teeth barred as he does so, eyes fixed on every one of your reactions. He’s practically snarling as you let your head fall back against the mattress, the head of his cock driving into your g-spot.

“Wanna come again already, bunny?” You make a real spectacle of yourself, hooking your legs around his waist, trying to pull him in deeper. “Greedy little thing…”

“Joel please-”

“Joel please.” He mocks. “Is that all you can say now?” You keen softly but he only grins as you tighten around him. 

“P-please…” You squeak out as he snaps hips forward once more. 

“Come again, I wanna feel this pretty cunt come.” He snarls against your neck, leaving a trail of bites until he reaches your shoulder, a particularly harsh bite has you crying out.

“Joel!” You grit your teeth, a wave of heat washes over you as you come one last time, you feel his tongue dragging across the bite mark. 

It’s all so close to being painful.

Your stomach aches from the overstimulation, and you register a faint stinging feeling when he laps at the bite. Your walls clench around him, strangling his cock, and his hands instantly leave your legs, gripping the sheets instead.  

“Fuck, fuck.” He barely pulls out in time, coming on your stomach. You reach down in your haze, scooping some of his load onto your finger before sliding them between your lips. 

Fucking salted caramel. 

Sweet and sticky on your tongue. 

He pants above you, watching with an intoxicated look as you dip your fingers into his cum over and over again until your stomach is bare.

He nudges his nose against yours, rubbing every part of his face against you for a few minutes. It’s wildly intimate and you're once again a little taken aback by his sudden tone shift. 

“Was that okay?” He drawls, once again searching your face for any indication that you might not be. 

You nod, beaming up at him and letting him rest the bridge of his nose on yours for a few moments more before you slip out of his arms, stepping into the bathroom. You relieve yourself before going to sort yourself out in the mirror. 

You’re bleeding. 

Where he bit you, two mirroring crescents, red and angry on your shoulder, leaking blood. 

“Shit.” You grab a handful of toilet paper, wiping it clean before rinsing it in the sink and returning to him.  

“Everything okay?” He’s pulled his boxers on, tossing you his shirt which you’re eager to put on. You don’t want him to see the bite. 

“Everything’s fine.” You crawl back up into the bed beside him. 

He stays the night, pulling you to his chest and caging you in with his arms. 

And you aren’t haunted by dreams. 

In the morning a part of you worries he’ll disappear all over again, you’re a little surprised when he texts you just a few minutes after he drives off.  [ can’t wait to see you again soon bunny ]

Joel follows through on his promise. 

A few days later he picks you up from work and drives you to the outlet mall about an hour away, saying he needs to get some stuff for Ellie as well. Apparently she likes to throw plates so he wants to find the kind that suction onto the table. As he drives the radio plays a country song you don’t recognize which he hums along to as you watch the trees outside the window. 

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you about my aunt.” He turns the music down once you start speaking. 

“Darlene? You probably know her better than I do.” He doesn’t seem very eager to talk about her but it only makes you want to know more. 

“Doubt it. All I know about her is that she wasn’t close with anyone in my family.”

“You weren’t close? But she left you her camper.”

“That’s why I need to know anything you might know about her, I know nothing.” He seems hesitant and you’re worried if you keep pushing it he won’t tell you anything at all. 

“She was a lonely old woman, had me fix things for her often, I honestly think she just wanted company.” His voice softens a bit as he says it. 

“She didn’t have friends here in Honey?” 

“Not that I know of, she was a bit of a shut in, sweetest woman I’ve ever met, just a bit… skittish. She worked from home and I’m pretty sure someone delivered her groceries. The only time I ever saw her outside was when I was fixing her roof and she sat in a lawn chair to talk to me while I did.” 

“She worked from home?” 

“Yeah, something on her laptop, I’m not entirely sure.” You’ve never seen a laptop. 

You’ve been living in the camper for nearly six months and you’ve never seen a laptop. 

But that’s not what interests you the most right now. 

“What do you mean by skittish?” You’re trying to gauge his reaction but he doesn’t seem to have one. 

“Maybe skittish isn’t the right word. Eccentric? Some of the kids in town called her ditzy Darlene.” His expression sours as he says it. 

“That’s horrible.”

“It was.”

“Why?” He seems more reluctant than ever but now you’re just upset on behalf of the woman who left you everything.

“She fed into a lot of the legends around town, and didn't seem to have any hobbies outside of monster hunting.”

“Monster hunting?”

“She was the only local who went to the gift shops, searching for a monster she swears she saw.”

Sounds familiar.

“Did she ever find any?” 

“Monsters?” He laughs. “Not that I know of.”

“Did you think she was crazy?”

“I think she was lonely, and I think when you spend that much time alone your mind can wander.”

“But did you think she was crazy?” 

“No.” He puts an end to the conversation by putting the truck in park. You hadn’t even realized you were there, the outlet mall is so small. His southern manners remain persistent as he jogs around the truck to open your door for you, holding onto you to provide balance as you hop out.

You aren’t sure where anything is so you just follow him, taking his hand in yours as you walk. He takes you into a clothing store you don’t recognize the name of and waits patiently as you try on a few different pairs of jeans. It’s been quite some time since you’ve bought new clothes so you get a few pairs, you’re worried it’s boring for him to just wait outside the changing room but when you walk out with three pairs slung over your arm he still looks happy as can be. When you go to pay he opens his wallet, silencing your protests with a reminder that it’s his fault you needed new jeans in the first place. 

After that he takes his time, the two of you walk hand in hand through each store, he doesn’t even look around most of them, seemingly content with just spending time with you. 

He manages to find a few rubber bowls with suction cup bottoms for Ellie as well as some spanish flashcards and you decide to get a pair of blue hiking boots, if you’re gonna be walking everywhere you might as well be comfortable. 

At the last store you stop at you find a nice perfume, spraying a bit into the air and inhaling. It reminds you of springtime, it’s light, floral, but when Joel catches a whiff of it he scrunches his nose up. 

“You don’t like it?” You set the bottle back down. 

“I like the way you smell now.” You frown, trying to remember what shampoo and body wash you’ve been using. If you recall correctly it’s just some generic brand you’d bought ages ago. 

“I didn’t know you spoke spanish?” You remark, pointing at the bag containing the cards, opting to just change the subject rather than give yourself a headache trying to remember. 

“I don’t, but Sarah does and she’s been insisting I teach Ellie while she’s gone, something about it being better if she’s bilingual.”

“I think that’s sweet.” You swing your arms a bit, keeping his hand in yours as he walks you out of the store and in the direction of the truck. 

“Of course you think it’s sweet, you're not the one with two daughters who will be using their secret language against you.” He takes his keys from his pocket, clicking the unlock button. 

“It’s not a secret language, if your baby can learn it then I’m sure you can.” He helps you up into the truck once more, shutting the door behind you.

It’s almost comically difficult to keep your hands off him when you’re alone, especially now that you have a taste for him. Even just being in the truck with the windows up is suffocating, the smell of his aftershave or his laundry detergent drives you mad the moment you’re stuck in an enclosed space with him. 

You slide across the truck so you’re in the middle seat as he pulls out of the parking lot. It’s like you feel sick when you aren’t touching him, like you’re suffering from this barely noticeable nausea and you don’t realize you were even dealing with it until it’s gone. 

You watch curiously as he keeps one hand on the wheel and brings the other to rest on your thigh. His shoulders relax the moment he does, his frown lines smooth themselves out a bit. 

He’s just so warm, and he’s so nice to be near. Today he smells like a candle you used to have, something you lit around Christmas time. He smells like cookies and peppermint. 

You can’t help but turn your head a bit, trying to discreetly inhale the scent of his jacket.

To say that Joel Miller becomes the perfect boyfriend would be an understatement. 

He drives you to work, he sends you flowers, (which gets confusing in a funeral home.) he holds open doors, and he always texts you back. 

Quite literally everything gets better once he’s back in your life. 

You don’t get anymore mangled bodies, only a few from the nursing home and one from a nearby hospital, it’s mostly just funeral planning these days. You see Joel daily, Maria and Tommy seem a little surprised every time he dotes on you and you can’t help but wonder what he’s done to earn such a reaction, but he’s so sweet you hardly care. Between both of you working and him having a toddler you’re shocked he makes as much time for you as he does. You see him every morning when he takes you into work but he also insists on seeing you twice a week, whether it’s going out, or ordering in, or just dragging him into your bed, he always makes time for you. 

You even spend a little time with Ellie. Joel spends a lot of time with her at the funeral home so you often see her in little doses, she seems indifferent towards you which worries you until you realize she acts that way towards everyone but her father. It’s remarkable to watch him with her, he’s soft with you but with her it’s something else entirely. She sticks to him like glue and you’ve never once seen him look bothered by that fact, you assume she’d get bored just sitting in his arms but she never does. He likes to tell her jokes and you aren’t even sure she understands them but without fail she bursts into a fit of giggles every time he gets to the punchline. 

It’s good with him, everything is easier. Everything just sort of makes sense with Joel and for the first time in a long time everything feels right. 

Until the morning you wake up, a sticky feeling between your legs and an ache in your belly.

“Shit.” You roll out of bed, quickly shedding your clothes, tossing them into the laundry bin before texting Joel.

[ hot date idea for us, you drive me to the laundromat and then watch me do my laundry ] 

Setting your phone down you hop into the shower, washing away the blood with a groan, you spend far too long under the water, when you finally step out and check your phone you’re running late, you pull open the curtains a bit to see if Joel’s already waiting for you but much to your confusion you aren’t met with the familiar sight of the truck.

You had never really discussed him driving you to work; it was just something he’d started doing, you probably shouldn’t have expected it to be a permanent thing. 

You haphazardly pull yourself together, tossing on whatever looks clean before grabbing your phone and bag, rushing out the door. 

The cool morning air stings your face as you quickly walk down the familiar gravel driveway towards the home, you’re already preparing your excuse for why you’re so late but Maria doesn’t even notice as you step into the office, she’s busy on a call.

You recognize the look on her face, she’s talking to a family. You step inside, taking a seat in one of the chairs across from her desk as you wait. She seems to be at the end of the conversation. 

You couldn’t be more grateful that she takes care of telling the families. You’ve never been good at that kind of thing. She hangs up with a gentle, goodbye, smiling up at you as you try and imagine a situation in which your job was to deliver such terrible news. 

The ache in your stomach snaps you back to reality. 

Fuck. You forgot to bring anything.

“Any chance you have a pad?” You give her an apologetic look.

Based on her expression you’d think you’d just asked her for a lung. Several emotions flash across her face in an instant, but mostly she looks like someone who just solved a riddle that had been plaguing them for quite some time. She snaps out of it quickly though, giving you a curt nod. 

“Of course, let me just run upstairs.”

It’s an older man, graying and wearing what is obviously hiking gear.

Poor guy. 

He’s torn apart, the worst you’ve seen so far, his limbs have all been individually torn off, they lay, separated from the rest of him on the table. 

It’s an open casket so you’re gonna be down here all day. 

You text Joel one last time before setting your phone down. 

[ gonna be pretty busy all day, got another bear attack, i’ll call you when i’m on my way home. ] 

With that you get to work, putting on your gown and gloves, and starting at the torn clothes. It’s hard to figure out where his clothes start and his skin ends with the condition his body is in but you manage to cut him out of everything so you can properly assess the damage. 

You’re getting used to seeing these messy wounds, the sight of torn flesh. It should be a pretty easy job all things considered. He’ll be in a suit so you’ll just reattach everything and no one will ever have to see the extent of his wounds. 

You check everything twice, making sure that you’ve got the left and right correct before you start sewing things back up. You try to mimic the way you saw Maria do it, careful and practiced stitches.

You finish the legs easily enough, both had been ripped off just above the knee, you’re about to start on the arms when you drop the needle in surprise. 

How didn’t you realize this before? 

You’ve been preparing these bodies for weeks now and you’ve never once noticed one harrowing detail. You’re used to tending to bodies that have already seen a pathologist. Bodies with their organs in a bag, with their blood drained, ready to be prepared for a funeral or cremation. And you’ve been so focused on doing a good job to impress Maria that you’ve failed to take note of the most obvious thing before you. 

There’s no blood. 

None of the bodies you’ve tended to from the bear attacks have blood, all of their organs remain intact but because Maria declares cause of death you know she doesn’t drain them. You’ve drained everyone who hasn’t been sent in from a bear attack. 

Maybe Maria drained them before you got in.

But that isn’t possible, you know that, you’d have seen the equipment, and you’ve gotten bodies straight from the scene, already drained. 

You reach over to grab a scalpel off the table. 

You shouldn’t do this. You could probably be fired for it, but as long as no one finds out you’ll be fine. All the damage to this cadaver has been done to its limbs, so hypothetically, if you were to slice open his chest you would see blood, dried or otherwise. 

So you do just that. 

You carve out a small, clean, incision vertically on his sternum. 

Nothing. 

You’ve got a pen flashlight that you shine into his chest cavity only to find his organs. Dry. 

He’s been completely drained of his blood. 

You stitch him up quickly, finishing the job as swiftly as possible before running up the stairs, mumbling a rushed excuse to Maria before running the entire way home. 

Joel doesn’t text you back. 

This isn’t happening, not again, he wouldn’t do this again. 

You feel like you’re gonna be sick. 

An image flashes through your mind. 

Joel.

Lips curled back in a snarl. 

No. That wasn’t real, it was just a dream. Although the line between the two has been getting blurrier. 

Joel isn’t out there draining people of their blood, that’s absurd, even if he goes missing and those dates happen to coincide with the days that you get bloodless corpses. 

It’s a coincidence. 

Or it isn’t. 

Maybe for one second you should just let yourself consider the possibility that something is terribly wrong. 

You thoroughly check the two bodies you get the next day. 

They come in together, a couple from out of state hiking in the park. Neither one of them bleeds. 

The day after that you wake up early and walk to the funeral home as the sun rises. You watch the hearse wheel in the body, and you make sure you’re the first person to see her. 

A tragically beautiful woman who appears to be in her late forties, maybe early fifties. 

None of her wounds are bloody, and when you open her chest cavity it’s like someone drank her insides with a straw. 

You’re nearly at your breaking point, nothing you’re looking at makes any sense. 

You spend that night in bed, unable to sleep as you try and figure out what the hell is going on. 

Joel doesn’t answer your calls. 

He doesn’t respond to your several angry texts. 

And something deep down within you tells you that asking Maria would be a mistake. 

You’re completely alone on this. 

So you call Maria and you tell her that you’re sick and won’t be in tomorrow. Then you look up the bus schedule in and out of town.

The bus comes in and out of Honey twice, every other day. Lucky for you, today is one of the days the bus will be there in the morning, and return in the evening. 

The bus stop is empty when you arrive, the misty morning air clings to your skin as you stare out into the surrounding forest. 

Something is out there. 

And you’re gonna find out what it is.

You can’t keep being afraid, this is your home now, and you won’t be driven away by some imaginary monster. 

It starts to drizzle when you look out the window of the bus, watching Honey disappear behind you. 

You have a plan. 

Well sort of. 

You’re going to find some literature on the subject. You’re sick of feeling crazy so you’re going to prove yourself right. Something is very wrong in Honey, and monster or not, you’re going to figure it out. 

You don’t catch the name of the town you end up in, you just get off at the stop that looks the most tourist friendly, assuming that there has to be a book store somewhere in town. 

You only have to walk main street for a few minutes before you find it. 

It’s a quaint little shop tucked in between an attorney's office and a gift shop. 

Betty’s Books

Dimly lit and jam packed wall to wall with books, a small elderly woman sits behind the counter, reading a Stephen King novel. 

“Excuse me?” You clear your throat as she looks up at you over her wiry glasses. 

“How can I help you?” Her smile is warm, it fills the entire shop with an aura of comfort. 

You’re going to sound ridiculous. And the moment you do this you’ll be speaking it into existence. 

You don’t have any other options. 

“Do you have anything on local urban legends?” You try not to sound too ashamed but her smile never falters as she points. 

“Back left corner, dear.” 

“Thank you.”

“Let me know if you need anything else.” She’s already buried her nose back in her book before you turn towards the rest of the shop. 

You begin searching the shelves for anything that could possibly help you, there’s several different books on bigfoot and the loch ness monster. There are a lot of empty spaces between books and you have to assume that this is what most tourists are buying. 

People in search of ghosts and myths. 

Are you any better than them? 

Running out into the darkness, looking for a monster you very well may have made up. 

You look through a few more options before finally settling on a thick, leather bound book, you pull it from its place and stare down at the embossed cover. 

A Beginners Guide to Cryptozoology : West Virginian Monsters 

You aren’t going to find a better place to start. 

You move back towards the front, stopping in front of the children's section.

Lullabies & Poems for Bedtime 

A rabbit with a pocket watch, asleep under a tree, adorns the cover. 

Ellie might like that. 

Even if you’re madder than hell at her father. 

You grab the little white book, setting both onto the counter, paying before stepping out into the rain. You’ve got hours until the bus back to Honey returns so you quickly make your way to a diner across the street, keeping the books tucked into your jacket. 

A little bell chimes as you push the door open, sitting yourself at one of the free booths you set the books down on the table. 

The waitress brings you coffee and water as you set your jacket aside, you order a plate of fries just to give you something to do as you watch the rain on the diner windows for a bit. 

Eventually you know you can’t put it off anymore so you open up the book and sit back, taking care to read every single page, not wanting to miss a thing. 

The first thing you learn is that there are a startling number of unnamed monsters. 

It covers the basics in the first few chapters, mothman, bigfoot, chupacabra, and werewolves, but the second half of the book is entirely monsters with no names, only ink drawing accompanying the descriptions. For a while you find nothing, eventually ordering a milkshake which you sip as you skim the pages.

After two hours you’re about to give up when you stumble across a page that finally shows something familiar. 

A drawing of a body, mangled, with wounds you recognize. 

Five slashes across the chest, both arms completely torn off. 

This creature is thought to reside only in heavily wooded areas, it was speculated to be located in the southern United States for several decades before disappearing completely. 

Since then people have claimed to have seen this creature in many different locations although the majority seem to be centralized to the east coast of North America, resembling a lich, or a wendigo. 

When you turn the page the illustration of the monster stares back at you. 

It’s hard to make out what’s what and it looks mostly like inky scribbles but within those lines you see the creature you’ve been imagining. Long, sharp limbs, massive shoulders, and a face almost reminiscent of a humans, everything is just… distorted. 

While technically unnamed, there are many unique pieces of folklore attached to this specific creature. Witnesses claim to have seen this monster transform from human to creature and vice versa, as if they walk among us in their free time. 

What sets the creature apart from many other creatures of this variety is their affinity for humans. More often than not we’ve gotten reports of these creatures seeking out human mates.

We have several different claims from people saying they’ve seen the transformation happen right before their very eyes. One man claimed to have watched his sister in law turn at Thanksgiving dinner. Another says that he saw a cousin's boyfriend disappear into the woods during a wedding, transforming into a beast as he did. 

According to old legends there is thought to be a connection between these creatures and their mates, quite literally bonding them in blood. The males are believed to be linked to their human mates menstrual cycles; if they have one, the females are linked to their own. There are many different descriptions of what this means for human mates. Some believe that when this creature comes in contact with their mate that they permanently revert to their human forms. Others believe they’re hunger for flesh only grows after coming in contact with them.

But most believe that they eat their mate. Plain and simple. That their blood is more potent to them than anyone else’s, so much so that any love they may harbor for them is irrelevant, they are simply blinded by their bloodlust. 

Its victims often resemble that of an animal attack. Bodies torn apart, mangled, often believers of this legend are ‘disproven’ because of this fact, but there is always one thing that separates this creature's kills from that of an animal. Animals who eat their victims will do exactly that, eat them, this creature does no such thing, while it does massacre its victims it will rarely consume its flesh, preferring the taste of blood. 

There have been no confirmed sightings of these creatures and we have been unable to trace its origins or obtain any photographic evidence, maybe it really is just an animal. 

Monster or bear? It’s up to you.

It’s up to you. 

You slam the book shut.

It’s nonsense. 

Joel isn’t some blood drinking, period monster. But you came all this way, looking for a monster, and seemingly you’ve found it. 

You pick up the little book for Ellie, taking a sip of your coffee. 

Maybe it’ll make you feel better. 

You open it to find a familiar little song on the inside of the cover.

I know you,

I walked with you once upon a dream. 

You flip through it, mostly admiring the beautiful illustrations, they look like watercolors. There’s a frog with a crown, princesses with flowing gowns and witches grinning up at you from the pages. It isn’t until some random page in the middle that you actually stop to read the poem. The drawing accompanying this one isn’t colorful, only black ink, a drastic change from everything so far. 

Jabberwocky

By: Lewis Carroll 

It unsettles you to look at so you focus on the words instead. You know this creature, it’s from Alice in Wonderland. The poem is whimsical, you can imagine a child finding it rather entertaining should a parent read it with enthusiasm. You don’t have a parent reading it to you though, you’re alone, staring at the lines that have caught your eye. 

Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

No more books today. 

When you check your phone there are no new notifications. So Joel is either a terrible boyfriend or a potential murderer. 

How comforting. 

Fuck it. 

You click on his contact.

[ TEXT ME BACK RIGHT NOW. OR WE’RE THROUGH. ] 

Monsters aren’t real. 

Joel Miller is just the worst boyfriend (soon to be ex-boyfriend) on the planet. 

It doesn’t help that you catch a glimpse of a tampon wrapper in your bag when you throw your phone back into it. 

It’s a coincidence. 

You can’t say anything to anyone about this, how would it look if ditzy Darlene’s niece showed up and started spinning stories of her own? You can’t do it, you know exactly what people would say. They’d say it ran in the family and they’d find a reason to be cruel to her even in death. 

So you take the bus home in silence. 

For the next few days barely speak to Maria other than polite greetings, you’re certain she doesn’t notice, both of you are swamped. You’ve got a body everyday the rest of the week and she’s up to her neck in paperwork. 

And Joel never texts.

Maria’s juggling Ellie and trying to fill out papers when you get in the next morning. 

“Thank god you’re here, can you run upstairs and grab something for me, there’s a little makeup bag on the counter in the bathroom, I forgot it earlier and I’m waiting on a phone call regarding the couple we had.” 

“Of course.” You set your things down before reaching for Ellie. “Here, let me take her so you can do that.”

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you.” Almost as if on cue the phone rings the moment she says it. You head towards the stairs, the toddler in your arms scrunches up her face as if trying to recall your identity. 

“You know me, silly, I’m friends with your daddy.” At the mention of her father she seems to relax and you open the door at the top of the stairs. 

You’ve never actually been in this part of the house before, you’ve always stayed in the business section. You don’t get a chance to look around, the bathroom is the first door on your left. A bag the size of a pencil box is on the counter, you hand it to Ellie, her little hands play with the bag as you carefully bounce her in your arms. 

“Do you know where your daddy is?” You poke her in the belly making her smile at you for the first time. “Not gonna snitch?” You tickle her side, earning a tiny giggle. You let her play with the zipper as you bring her back downstairs. “Any bodies today?” You yell as you descend the stairs. 

“Had a cremation from the home this morning, I’ve just got a lot of papers, I’m planning six funerals simultaneously right now.” 

Six massacred corpses in six days. 

“Where’s Tommy?” Ellie puts up a bit of a fight for the bag but you set it down on the desk just in time to watch Marias grip on her pen tighten. 

Yikes. Must be a sore spot right now. 

“He’s got a work thing, left me with that little monster.” She uses the pen to point at the toddler who’s already starting to get antsy in your arms. 

If you’ve got no bodies today you might as well offer to help.

“I can watch Ellie if you’d like.” 

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“Of course not, want me to keep her upstairs? I’m sure you don’t want me watching her in the basement.” You laugh a little as she nods. 

“You really are a lifesaver, I don’t know how I managed without you.” 

“Oh stop, you clearly did just fine before I came along.” Your face gets a bit hot at the compliment. 

“I’ll be up in a few hours once I finish up here, you two have fun.” She doesn’t give any instruction beyond that so you just take Ellie back upstairs. You haven’t spent much time with her beyond the small interactions in passing but you know she doesn’t like doing nothing unless it’s with Joel. She’s trying to get out of your arms the second you’re at the top of the stairs. You set her down in the entryway and she’s already running into the kitchen. 

You don’t want to snoop but you actually get to take a good look around as Ellie settles in front of a pile of notebooks and a mess of crayons on the kitchen floor. It’s a pretty open floor plan, the kitchen and living room are all one big room and from the looks of it they must watch Ellie often, an outsider would assume they have a child of their own. A play pen is set up on the floor of the living room and toys are scattered everywhere. 

“Are you hungry, sweetie? Do you want something to eat?” There’s different snacks on the counter as you walk over to where she’s playing. 

“Yes please.” Her voice is clear and high pitched, you’re actually a little surprised, you didn’t even know she could talk, she’s always silent when you’re around. There’s an assortment of different things on the counter so you just find something that’s already open. Handing her a little container of apple puffs, she doesn’t look up from her drawings, just blindly reaching over and grabbing a handful as you sit at the counter to watch over her. 

She’s a very well behaved baby all things considered. 

You have to stop her from drawing on the walls a few times and at one point she stuffed a handful of food between the couch cushions but other than that she’s rather relaxed. She sits and draws mostly, only occasionally getting up and doing a few laps around the room before returning to her papers. 

At one point she makes her way to where you’re sitting, slapping your leg to get your attention until you pick her up, she points to the window above the sink and when you take her there she simply stares out at the trees. 

She’s focused on the woods as you watch her expression, her face is oddly serious. 

After a few minutes you set her down, unease filling your body. She doesn’t seem to mind though as she runs back to her drawings, you return to the counter, checking your phone for a few minutes until she appears in your peripherals once more, tapping your leg again, handing you one of her drawings. 

At several different moments this week you’ve thought that you’ve reached your breaking point. 

None of those compare to how you feel when you pick up the paper Ellie had been scribbling on. 

It’s crude and mostly indiscernible but you know exactly what you’re looking at. 

A monster. 

A broad shouldered, sharp toothed, crayon monster. 

You stare at the little girl, trying to keep your composure as you pick her up, setting her in your lap and pointing at the mess of scribbles on the page. 

You feel crazier than ever, asking a toddler for help but no one else is around and you’re running out of options. 

“Can you tell me what that is, sweetie? What did you draw?” You hand her the drawing back which she crumples a bit in her fist before setting it on the counter, you point again at the creature. “Ellie, honey, can you tell me what this is please?” You’re doing your best to keep calm as she kicks her legs a bit before staring up at you with a frown. 

“Daddy?” For someone so small she speaks so loudly and clearly, but you just shake your head. 

“I know, honey, you want your daddy, I wish I knew where he was but you’re stuck with me today.” You smooth out her hair a bit as she scrunches up her face, looking rather upset. 

“Tío.” She points down at the drawing before looking back at you for approval, you just smile. You feel like an idiot. Asking a child for help. A child who can barely speak. 

“It’s okay, you’re too little to understand.” You hold her under one arm as you walk around the counter to the fridge. “How about I get you some juice.” 

You find a clean sippy cup, pouring her some apple juice before setting her back down, handing her the cup and searching through your bag. 

“I almost forgot, I got you a present.” She perks up immediately, setting her cup down as you hold the little white book out towards her.

“Thanks!” Her eyes light up as she takes it from you, it’s one of the few times you’ve seen her smile without her father being in the room, sitting on the floor before looking back up at you, tapping the spot next to her until you sit as well. 

“Do you want me to read it to you?” You watch as she sets it down in front of her, she’s surprisingly gentle as she flips open the cover. 

“No thank you.” She’s enraptured by the illustrations, not caring for the text, laying down on her stomach, and sitting up on her elbows as she slowly flips through the pages, her eyes wide as she points out everything she sees to you. You rub her back, nodding along, you’re mostly just happy that she’s excited. 

She kicks her feet as she explains the big red bird on the page to you. After a few more minutes of her babbling she turns the page again.

Jabberwocky 

She giggles wildly as she points at the page and suddenly you’re filled with dread all over again. She’s positively captivated by the drawing, refusing to turn to a different page when you urge her to move on.

You don’t speak again until Maria comes upstairs to check on her, when you do it’s to tell her you aren’t feeling well, and you’re going home.

You’re going on a monster hunt. 

There’s nothing left to do. You need to soothe your fears before you lose it completely and you aren’t going to stare at the trees and wonder for the rest of your life. 

You stop at one of the tourist traps in town, you need supplies for tonight. 

A camera. 

It’s an easy in and out stop. You buy a polaroid camera, and several packs of film. 

No one will believe you otherwise, you’ll be ridiculed the same way they did Darlene. You think of her as you walk back home, what if she was right about everything? She spent her life in fear of a monster no one believed in and they mocked her for it, and at the end of the day she might have been right. 

Maybe the monster is real and it isn’t Joel. 

Either way you’re going into the woods tonight. Your backpack is packed with the essentials, your water bottle, camera, an extra film pack, one of the knives from the kitchen (wrapped in a towel,) and a flashlight. 

Once you’re packed you put your boots and jacket on and head out. 

It’s like everything quiets down the moment you step outside. The forest hums, beckoning you in, and how could you refuse such an offer? 

You manage to keep your hands steady as you flip the switch on your flashlight, stepping into the trees. It feels so much colder now than it did when you were walking home. 

With dusk settling the sun is no longer there to keep you warm or to guide your way. You haven’t actually seen much of the forest, so you decide to walk in a straight line to avoid getting lost as you carefully step over a tangle of roots. As a child you loved nothing more than playing in the woods behind your house. But after just half an hour in these woods you suddenly resent the trees, they no longer bring you any comfort as you carry on into the cold dark night. You’re just about to give up and turn back around when suddenly something changes.  

Without warning and with seemingly no cause you feel a chill rush through your body, your hair standing on end. Your blood runs cold and you hear a sound you’re all too familiar with at this point. 

The tearing sound rips through the air. 

Your instincts tell you that you’ve become prey rather suddenly in this situation but you can’t turn back now, not when you can prove to yourself that you aren’t losing it. 

As quietly as possible you reach back into your pack, grabbing the camera already loaded with film and holding it in your free hand. The beam coming from your flashlight trembles slightly as you carry on towards the noise. 

It’s louder than it ever was in the dreams. In the dreams it was subdued, almost as if you subconsciously knew that it couldn’t hurt you. As you carry onward you can’t help but wonder if you’re just imagining it at this point. It doesn’t seem to get louder as you walk. It simply fills the air completely, you’re being directed purely by your instincts. You know it’s this way as you move forward a few more steps. 

You scan the trees with your light, seeing nothing out of the ordinary until you finally see it. Your finger instinctively flips off your flashlight. 

You almost didn’t catch it. 

But your legs keep moving and you get closer and closer to the hunched figure. 

It’s hard to describe, like your eyes don’t want to accept what you’re seeing. A voice in the back of your mind tells you that you’re getting too close but you can’t seem to stop yourself as you carry on until you can get a good look at it. 

You can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as you realize it isn’t Joel. But that relief only lasts a moment as you see what you’re actually dealing with. 

You aren’t sure how big it is. It’s big. That much is clear but it’s crouched down, it’s almost human, it may have once been human. You’re having trouble making out most of it in only the moonlight. It’s less broad than the illustrations you’ve seen, almost slim, with how close you are now you can see that it’s eating. 

A buck, one of the biggest ones you’ve ever seen is splayed out across some rocks. It’s stomach has been ripped open. You watch, with morbid fascination as it digs its maw deeper into the gore. 

How curious, it’s wearing clothes. Or at least the remains of some clothing, a bit of fabric clings to its crooked spine, it wears the tattered collar of a shirt like a necklace. Navy blue sweatpants stretch around the creature's waist, the fabric pulled taut, it looks like they make it just past its knees. The elastic around the ankles has snapped. 

The funniest part of all of this is that you feel nothing but fear for the creature. You aren’t disgusted and you certainly don’t hate it. You’re just afraid, so afraid that before you can slap your hand over your mouth you burst into a peal of laughter. 

Fuck. 

It all happens so fast, you aren’t ready in the slightest to be face to face with it and suddenly you are, purely on instinct your hand twitches and with the flash of the camera you get a single moment to stare at it. 

It’s so close to being human.

It’s mouth is too big, a blood soaked tongue falling past a row of jagged, pointed teeth. It’s almost like someone stretched out a person's face like it was made of clay. And it’s male. Intricate branching horns stretch out from under the hair crowning its head. 

“The doe’s don’t have antlers.”

Your dad was a hunter, you know your antlers,  you aren’t exactly sure but if it was a deer it would be a thirteen pointer. You should run, you’re about to but then you finally look it in the eye, just as the final remnants of the camera flash flicker out. 

There is something worse than hunger, or thirst, or rage in its eyes, if that was all there was you could scream or cry. But this leaves you frozen in place. 

Recognition. 

Like it knows you. 

And the moment it recognizes you it snarls, an ear-piercing sound that rips through the quiet of the forest, blood spewing from its maw at you, flecks of crimson tint your clothes and hands as your eyes go wide.

It’s a good thing your legs move faster than your brain, you’re already sprinting away from the creature. 

You lose your flashlight almost immediately but you know where you’re going, you couldn’t be more thankful for your decision to go in a straight line. You don’t stop moving, running blindly back the way you came, never once daring to look behind you. 

You know it’s there, you can hear it, and you can feel it. 

Its breath is hot on your heels, you can hear the branches splintering directly behind you. Everything is a blur, stray branches sting your exposed skin but you don’t stop, you can’t, your muscles ache as you push onward, keeping your hands out in front of you to guide you through the darkness until you finally see the road up ahead. 

You’re nearly there, almost feeling relief, almost. 

An icy hand wraps around your ankle, you’re yanked backwards before you can process what’s going on, your back dragging across the forest floor and in an instant you’re beneath it. 

This is it. 

You wanted a monster, you got one. And now you’re going to die for it. It snarls as its maw falls open, you’re face to face with a row of shimmering, gore smeared teeth. This is it. 

He smells like cinnamon. 

It tilts its head ninety degrees, its jaw closing in on your throat as you close your eyes, tears now flow freely down your face and finally you can’t contain your terror anymore. 

You scream. 

A trembling shriek falling from your lips and much to your confusion a killing blow never comes. After one more shuddering breath you open your eyes only to find you’re just staring up at the trees. You sit up, still out of breath. 

He’s a few feet away now. 

Thrashing around frantically as he stumbles backwards. As if your scream had upset him. He bellows, his twisted hands clutching his skull like he’s angry with himself. You cover your ears instinctively when it snarls in pain.

He can’t help it. 

You’re scrambling to your feet once more, giving him one final glance, you look into each other's eyes.

“Run.” 

It speaks. 

You break into a sprint once more, not daring to stop until your feet touch pavement. You don’t get the sense that you’re being followed anymore but you’re still in shambles. The adrenaline is slowly starting to fizzle out and you’re painfully aware of the wound you sustained during that encounter. Your ankle is torn up, two deep gashes from where it grabbed you are bleeding an alarming amount. You stumble, the sight of it making you nauseous. 

You get a moment's respite and you manage to compose yourself enough to retrieve your phone from your pocket. Walking backwards, keeping your eyes on the forest as you slowly continue to back away. In your desperation your blood stained fingertips frantically swipe across your phone screen, you don’t realize until it’s too late that you’re calling the only person who isn’t going to answer. 

Yet when you bring the phone to your ear you hear a click. 

“Joel?” You can’t fucking believe it. He actually picked up. 

“Sweetheart? Are you okay?” He can definitely hear the panic in your voice. 

You just break down.

“I’m by the road, on the way from Maria’s to my camper, I- I need you to come get me, please, it’s- it’s following me, but I think I lost it please, Joel.” You’re in hysterics as you catch a glimpse of one of the few streetlights down the road. You hear the sound of keys and you swear you hear Maria saying something in the background but you’re too frenzied to focus on that. 

“Who’s following you? Stay right there m’on my way.” You can hear the truck starting in the background as you keep running, not daring to stop even though it doesn’t feel like you’re being pursued anymore. 

“The monster… in the woods… it’s not a bear Joel.” You’re out of breath when you finally stop, standing in the middle of the road underneath the street lamp, spinning around to try and somehow keep an eye on all of the darkness around you. 

“Stay where you are, I’ll be there in two minutes, okay? Stay right where you are.” You’re about to beg him to hurry when the line goes dead. 

You must look like a mad woman. Standing in the middle of the street, covered in blood, and spinning in circles to try and keep an eye on every single direction as you listen for any signs of movement. 

Your heartbeat never slows, you can hear it pounding in the crushing silence that surrounds you. 

It only takes a few minutes before you see headlights approaching in the distance. You don’t even let the truck come to a full stop as you open the door and jump in, closing it behind you as you scramble towards Joel as if he could protect you from the goliath you saw in the darkness. 

“Drive! Now Joel, go!” You yell as he accelerates just to the point of following the speed limit as he heads towards your camper. 

“Bunny, please, calm down.” He wraps the hand that isn’t on the steering wheel around you but you shove him off, sliding back to the other side of the truck. 

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Joel, not after what I just went through, I saw it, a real monster grabbed me.” You’re stumbling over your words, trying to get them out as quickly as possible.

“Slow down, just tell me what happened.”

“I told you on the phone, I just found a fucking monster, Joel, that’s what happened.”

He’s gone silent now.

He probably thinks you’re crazy. 

That’s fine. You know you aren’t, you saw it, watched it feed. There’s deer blood on your boots. 

“You didn’t see a monster.” When you look he’s shaking worse than you are. You don’t dare turn your head further but you watch in your peripheral as he grips the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. 

He’s lying. 

Why would he lie? 

“I did, I took a-.” You reach into your bag and your stomach fills with dread as you realize you dropped the camera. 

“You didn’t. You’ve been spending too much time alone, and you shouldn’t be going out in the woods by yourself to begin with.” 

“And who’s fault is it that I’ve been alone?” You snap.

He doesn’t have a response to that. And you don’t have anything else to say, not like he’d believe you if you did. You should probably break up with him, for several reasons. 

Except you can’t. 

If you do, how will you stop people from being needlessly murdered? He may not be the monster, but he knows something, and you need to find out what it is. 

So you’ll ‘forgive’ him. Again. Because you need to get to the bottom of this.

And maybe, despite it all, you’re still terribly attached to him. He keeps disappearing, without warning and with halfhearted excuses as to why and all you can think about right now is how badly you missed him, and how badly you need him.  

“Does Tommy have Ellie tonight?” You mumble, trying not to sound too irritated. 

“I was stopping in to see her before leaving her with Maria for the night when you called.”

“Why?”

“I was gonna come over here and apologize.” He sounds just as sincere as he did last time but you still scoff.

“What’s the excuse this time?” When you turn to scowl at him he looks guilty.

“I was out of town on a work trip.”

“And you couldn’t answer your phone.”

“I forgot my charger at home.”

It’s a preconceived lie. You’re certain of it based on how quick he replies, and it’s not even a good one. He could have borrowed a coworker's phone or bought a new charger; it wouldn't have been difficult. But he doesn’t want you to know where he really was. 

Every bit of this confuses you. 

You saw something in the woods, but it wasn’t Joel? Joel was with Ellie and then he was with you, he couldn’t have been slaughtering lost hikers. It doesn’t make sense. One thing is for certain though, and it’s that you can’t break up with Joel until you know what's going on or more people are going to be killed by that thing you saw in the woods. You aren’t really sure what to call it, but you know that you found the thing that’s been killing. 

And he knows something about it. 

He had no reason to get as rattled as he did if he didn't know something about what you saw. So you can’t break up with him, not until you figure this all out. Until then you just have to play the part of a clueless, loving girlfriend. Which shouldn’t be too hard considering the fact that for some reason there is still a sick and twisted attraction to him despite everything you know, settling in your stomach. You bite your tongue, going the rest of the short drive in silence. When he finally pulls up to the camper the engine goes quiet as he turns the key. You had no intention of inviting him in but you won’t stop him if he follows. 

You slam the truck door shut, stomping up to the door, his footsteps following close behind. 

“Let’s talk about this.” He reaches for your arm as you’re unlocking the door but you just shove him off. You leave it open, kicking your shoes off as you slip out of your jacket as you flip on the lights. 

“I don’t want to talk.” He shuts the door behind him, you note that he locks it behind him. 

How presumptuous. 

Correct, but presumptuous. 

“You’re clearly upset, bunny.” He kneels down, untying his own boots before kicking them off. You glare down at him until he stands, trying to pull you into his arms but you just shove him away again. His eyes go wide as he takes you in.

Based on his reaction you really must be quite a sight. 

“Jesus, you’re a mess.” He looks genuinely concerned but you brush it off. 

“Thanks.” You scoff but when you look down you realize you’ve been leaving a trail of blood in your wake. 

“Do you have a first aid kit?” You should send him away. Tend to yourself and go to bed, but instead you just point to the cabinet containing the kit, sitting on the table as he retrieves it, tossing it down beside you. He doesn’t ask what happened, grimacing as he lifts your leg to examine your ankle.

He doesn’t need to ask, he knows what happened. 

He tends to your wounds in silence. You wince as he wipes the lacerations on your ankle, they look bad enough that you consider just going to the hospital but he doesn’t seem too worried. They’re just shallow enough that you don’t think you’ll need stitches. 

You don’t watch as he sprays it with antiseptic, quickly wrapping it in a layer of gauze and then bandages. 

When he’s finished you’re ready to get angry with him all over again but the moment you open your mouth to yell at him he grabs you by the chin, taking a clean piece of gauze and gently dabbing the thin cuts that litter your face. 

You stare up at the ceiling light, refusing to meet his gaze. 

He tends to every one of them, taking extra care as he smears ointment on each one. When he’s finished he takes anything bloodied and gathers it in his hand, standing to toss them into the bin under the sink. You don’t turn, but out of the corner of your eye you see him bring his hand to his mouth. 

Your blood.

He tasted your blood. 

You can feel the bile rising in your throat but you just swallow it back down. 

“Now we can talk.” He makes his way back over to you but you just shake your head. 

“I already told you, I don’t wanna talk.” 

“Bunny-” He takes another step towards you. 

“Shut up.” 

“Don’t be like that.” There’s real remorse in his eyes, you might even feel bad if you didn’t know that he was lying to you. 

“Shut. Up.” You push him so he stumbles back onto the bed. “I’m not crazy.” He props himself up on his elbows to look at you as you say it.

“I know.” He sounds almost apologetic. 

“Take your clothes off.” You mumble, already tossing your shirt to the side. 

“Are you sure?” 

You’re sure that he knows what’s out there in the woods and he isn’t telling you. 

“I am.” You kick your jeans off to emphasize your point. You know he won’t deny you this. Whatever sick, unexplainable force pulls you into his arms affects him as it does you. You don’t just want him, you need him. 

You hadn’t realized it until he’d disappeared again, but now you couldn’t be more aware. It’s as if your entire life you’ve felt wrong. You’ve been in a state of discomfort for as long as you can remember, like a vital part of you was missing. But you got used to it, and you learned to live with the odd sensation of never feeling like you're in the right place, nowhere ever felt like home. 

Joel feels like home, in a sort of twisted way. 

From the moment you first saw him everything cleared up. It was like you had finally found your center of balance, and when he disappeared he took all of that with him. 

This is more than just attraction. 

With that he tugs his flannel off, you grab the bottom of his shirt, impatiently pulling it up over his head, not wanting to look him in the eyes, you stare at his shoulders as you climb up onto the bed, straddling his lap. 

“I really think we should talk-” He starts again so you reach behind yourself, unclasping your bra, glaring at him as you let it drop.

“Then talk.” 

He looks at you like you’re something to eat. 

“That’s not fair.” He finally manages to pull his gaze off of your chest, looking you in the eyes, his pupils swallowing his irises leaving you to stare into the darkness of his eyes.  

“There’s nothing to talk about, you went away for work and you forgot your phone charger.” You reach between the two of you to remove his belt, tossing it behind him on the bed before trying to unzip his jeans. “It was just an unfortunate series of circumstances.” You grumble before lifting yourself off his lap so he can shove his jeans off.

He’s glaring at you now. Good. He should know that you’re challenging him. Everything from this point on is a game, you just have to catch him in a lie. You grind down against the straining fabric of his boxers, hands on his shoulders to balance yourself as you rub yourself against his clothed erection, drawing a hiss from between his teeth. Before you know it his hands are gripping the hem of your panties. 

“Go on Joel, rip them off. I know you’re plenty capable.” You say it like the accusation it is. He’s strong enough to do a lot of things, you aren’t sure if tearing a person in half is one of those things but you’re determined to find out. He knows what you’re implying but he does it anyway, grabbing the fabric on either side of your hips and easily tearing them to shreds. 

“You don’t know what you do to me.” He murmurs, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours. 

You do. 

He does the same to you. A carnal desire, your most basic human instincts are reduced to nothing the moment your skin is against his. 

You don’t waste any time, slipping your hand under the waistband of his underwear, watching his cock spring free, slapping against his stomach. You unceremoniously spit in your hand before taking him in your fist, watching his jaw go slack as you rake your nails against the underside of his cock, feeling him twitch in your hand. You keep your eyes trained on his face as you notch him at your entrance, tilting your head to the side as you hesitate. 

The veins in his neck jut out as you slide the head of his cock over your clit, hissing softly as you do. 

He’s purposefully showing restraint. 

He clutches the sheets, his knuckles go pale and you can’t help but wonder if he isn’t touching you because he’s worried he’ll hurt you. 

“Fuck me, Joel.” You lean forward, biting his stupidly plush bottom lip. He doesn’t move his hands from where they are and you can’t help but scowl against his mouth.   

He’s holding back. 

He knows exactly what you’re doing and he’s trying to prove you wrong. How long has he been holding back?

In one sharp motion you slide down on his cock, forcing an obscene moan out of yourself, but it isn’t loud enough to cover the ripping sound. Your eyes wander downward, his are rolled back but all you can focus on now is your torn bed sheets in his clenched fist. 

Holy hell.

“Fuck. Me.” You rasp out, lifting your hips again before dropping them back down. His head falls forward this time, his mouth latching onto your shoulder, muffling his growl.

You know that growl. 

“Fuck me or leave, Joel.” You take his face in your hand, roughly pulling him back so he’s eye to eye with you.

You heard that growl in the woods less than an hour ago. 

“You’re playing with fire, bunny.” He glares at you but you just stare right back. 

“I won’t say it again.” You give him one last warning and he finally brings his hands to your hips, with a grunt he lifts you up, slamming you back down on his cock, you can feel him brushing against your cervix as you cry out. 

At his age he shouldn’t be able to do that. 

He does it again, moving you like a ragdoll up and down on his length, a lewd squelching fills the air, egging him on. He tilts his head down, his teeth scrape against your breast, and you can hear a roar building in his throat. He fucks you like a fleshlight, moving you effortlessly up and down on his cock, your chest bouncing with each thrust.

He shouldn’t be able to do any of this.

Neither one of you speaks, you can feel the camper swaying ever so slightly as he slams into you, thrusting his hips up to meet yours as he pulls you down onto him. 

He makes it look effortless. 

Another growl rips through the air and you know neither one of you is gonna last long if he keeps going at this pace. He hammers into your sensitive spots with every thrust, your clit rubbing against the dark curls along his pelvis.

He’s merciless with the force at which he moves you, he’s started nipping at your shoulder and you know he’s close as they get harder and harder. You finally feel him break the skin and just like that he’s lifting you off of him, his mouth clamped down on your flesh, you feel his cum between your legs as he finishes on your folds. The sensation of him slipping out of you sends you over the edge right along with him, your stomach tightening as you groan, letting your head fall forward onto him.

You feel better already. 

Not good, just better. 

He manages to keep you both upright for a few more moments before collapsing down on the mattress with you in his arms. 

And then it’s just quiet.

Until the mattress squeaks as you get up. Wiping yourself off with a towel and turning the lights off before returning to bed without a word. He’s the one who finally breaks the silence.  

“If you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”

 “You can stay.” You mumble, rolling over to face away from him. 

It’s better if you know where he is. 

That’s what you tell yourself. 

It’s easier to swallow that excuse than the truth, that you can’t shake the terror from your encounter with the creature and now amount of fucking is going to change that. You don’t want to be alone, no matter how angry you are. He doesn’t seem to take the hint though, snaking his arm under yours and pulling you to his chest. 

You start to push him away but you feel a wave of calm wash over you when he does so you just settle back against him. You close your eyes, praying sleep might come but all you see in the darkness is that open maw closing in on you. 

You know that growl. 

It isn’t Joel. It can’t be Joel, he was with Ellie and then he was with you. 

It wasn’t Joel.

You’re more than used to waking up in the woods at this point. Monsters and men torment you in your dreams whenever they get the chance to. 

But tonight is different. 

You don’t feel the cold, wetness of the forest floor on your back before you open your eyes. Instead you only feel steel, you make an attempt to sit up on instinct but you can’t. In a panic you open your eyes to find yourself cuffed to the cadaver carrier from Marias basement. 

This can’t be happening. 

This is the kind of dream you get after your first body. 

You’ve had this dream, years ago when you’d just started studying mortuary sciences. Although now it feels worse, more ominous than it had previously. 

That probably has to do with the fact that you can’t move. 

In response to that petrifying thought you begin to uselessly tug on the cuffs, your ankles and wrists attached to the cold unforgiving steel of the table you’ve sewn countless bodies back together on. 

You don’t strap cadavers down, there’s no need to. 

The door swings open and you’re thankfully able to sit up enough to watch Maria and Joel walk in, solemn looks on both of their faces. 

You open your mouth to call for help but something stops you.

No.

No, no, no.

Your jaw is wired shut. 

The sudden realization makes you gag as you shake the table with the force of your panic. 

Maria is always thorough, your mouth is full of cotton.

They act as if you’re as lifeless as any other corpse as they stand beside you, despite your muffled screaming, tears immediately flowing from your eyes as you feel your throat constrict around the cotton.  

“What happened to her?” He sounds so far gone even though he only stands a few feet away. 

“You know what happened to her.” Marias sorrow turns to a look of resentment as she turns to Joel. 

“Bear attack.” He says it more to himself than to her. 

“Keep telling yourself that.” 

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“You never do.” Her voice is full of a hatred you haven’t ever heard in reality. 

She looks at you with a pity you’ve had on your own face before. It’s the same look you give every corpse on a table.  

You follow Maria’s gaze down at your body and find your chest sliced open, the inside dry. 

And then you wake up. 

Of course Joel is there when you sit up in bed with a strangled cry, a fresh flood of tears falling down your face. 

“Bunny?” His groggy, sleep ridden voice resembles a growl, sending you backwards away from him, your back hitting where the mattress meets the camper wall. He’s already up, he moves towards you but the moment you flinch away from he stops. “Are you okay? What hap-“

“Don’t come any closer.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Thankfully he doesn’t move towards you, he holds his hands up ever so slowly. He’s acting like you’re a cornered animal. 

You can’t seem to find your voice. Every single logical and rational part of your body and mind tell you to get as far away from him as possible. To fight tooth and nail to get past him, to run away and never look back. You’d never get away with that though, he’s too deeply rooted in you already. He’s made for you. Sculpted by the gods to be everything you’ve ever wanted all in one neat little salt and pepper package, served up to you on a silver platter.  

“Sweetheart, it’s okay, you’re okay.” He inches forward a bit but the way you pull your legs up against your chest, trying to make yourself smaller makes him move back. “It’s okay, it’s just me.” 

Yeah Joel, that's the problem.  

a/n : i have such mixed feeling abt this chap but whatever i really like it so ?? idk

I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!

#lincolndjarin #joel miller #tlou #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou hbo #joel tlou #the last of us hbo #monster fucker #monster lover #monster romance #oh honey #fic : oh honey

[crimeronan]

had my original fiction opening critiqued at irl group tonight! under a cut because this is long and it'll be painfully boring for people who have not been following my Anxiety Saga (and who do not care about the OCs), but tl;dr: very positive :3 we went a half hour over our usual time just discussing the story.

the prose, imagery, and exposition were all highly praised, ppl said the style is easy to read & a few even said it scans as fully publishable right now

didn't have a chance to get into the whole magic-as-autoimmunity meta or a Million Other Things because this story is a BEHEMOTH. but if i write more then i can get into it at other sessions :3

UNANIMOUS praise for the depiction of magic as painful/costly, one guy says he usually hates fantasy magic bc the stakes feel too low. but these didn't

characters were much more polarizing. everyone had a slightly different interpretation of and different emotions about the various narrators

also nearly every time someone said "this character thing didn't work for me" or "i hated this character detail," someone else would pipe up like "actually that was great for me personally. you should keep it" which made me laugh. THRILLED to accomplish this

pretty strong majority opinion that sol is an insane sociopath, i got some 'i'd like to see more depth in her' feedback until one woman said "my problem with her is that she's supposed to be super powerful but then her narration is exactly as neurotic and hypervigilant as your reader proxy's" while i was Vibrating With Excitement like YOU HAVE IDENTIFIED THE THING I DID ON PURPOSE YOU DID IT YOU GOT THE UNRELIABLE NARRATION IM YELLINGGGG

pretty unanimous empathy with and concern for the reader proxy narrator who's in a Very Bad Situation. some devastation upon finding out i don't plan for her to narrate the entire novel. about half the group was like "but... but everyone else is. everyone else is an evil sociopath :( i like the girl :(" sorry guy.s. i promise i'll make you want to read about them before i rip ur girl away

i cut some explicit/graphic threats of sexual and physical violence because i thought they went too far, despite this being psychological horror. three ppl gave me the feedback "i need to see some kind of explicit threat to really know the stakes here" i'm never questioning my dark edgy shit again. every character is fucked forever. amen

ONE READER DID CLOCK DEVIN AS TRANS and it was the Same One who clocked sol perfectly. she was like the mention of scruff jarred me so much that i googled the dictionary definition of scruff. what's the deal there & i was like oh. transgenda. & she was like I THOUGHT IT WAS SOMETHING LIKE THAT

everyone else: wow i did not notice that at all. and/or i assumed the scruff was leaves or twigs not stubble

OH AND!! i got a note that my character dialogue is all extremely distinctive. which was Such A Relief because i Know my fanfic dialogue is distinctive but i wasn't sure if i was replicating that with the OCs. it's hard to figure out how people talk & make it different from how other people talk when you yourself are only one person with one speech pattern.

very good positive experience. the problem now is that if i want to talk about other aspects of the story like...... literally everything, literally everything about everything to do with the story..... i gotta. i gotta write it. oh god.

#original fiction #long post #havent reread or edited this its stream of consciousness. im sleepy

[harryfeatgaga]

okay but harry would love using a vibrator on you... you're worried he'll be upset when you ask him about it bc you've had guys get annoyed in the past but when you bring it up his whole face lights up 😋 he's saying yes before you can even fully ask and he's like "can we do it right now???" he's so excited 😋 so he uses it on you first, figuring out what you like and what makes you feel the best, and once he makes you cum you're begging him to fuck you 😋 when you're both close you're grabbing his hand to pull it down so he can touch your clit but he stops for a second, you start whining but he just shushes you a little and reaches over for your vibrator 😋 your eyes go wide but he doesn't give you any time to think about it before he's pressing it to your clit and his hips are moving again and you swear you see God 😋 the combination is too much and you've already cum so you're so sensitive but it feels so good 😋 you're nearly in tears from how good you're feeling and all you can do is scratch his back and let out the pretty noises he loves so much while he makes you cum at least two more times 😋 he's just obsessed with how responsive you are and he thinks he's found his new favorite way to play with you 😋

FUUUUUUUUUCKKKKKFUCKCUFKUCKCKCJ OH MY GODDDHHJIDJNHJN THIS IS SOOO HOTTJBHJIJDNBH BYEEEEEEEEEE

#harry concept

[spitdrunken]

hi 😳 its disc anon here again...amd im having thoughts.

imagine giving ingo an aphrodisiac before his shift (consensually ofc because i personally am not into noncon) and hes just a wreck.. he's only halfway through his shift and on break hes just so desperate that he goes to the bathroom and tries so so hard to cum but he just cant without you...hes near sobbing and hes soaked but he cant cum! he calls you, too needy and desperate to function and so you pick him up and make some bullshit excuse that hes sick or smn and go home to fuck him...

ingo is completely gone, a mess of whines and moans, face utterly debauched and stained with tears as you make him cum over and over and over, clit so so sore but that just makes him feel even better...you end up fucking him w a vibrating dildo and maybe he lets his breeding kink slip out a little...anyways he cums so so much, squirting nearly every time bc ingo is absolutely a squirter, amd hes just so fucked out.

anyways you fuck him thru the whole night (and morning too 😏) bc the aphrodisiac mixed w his already high libido basically made him like a bitch in heat -📀

TOP TIER TOP TIER TOP TIER this got so long im sure you don’t mind but LKASLKDJLSKDFJ ur tapping into my brain right now genuinely

Ingo knew this was never going to work out well, but the idea had just been so terribly exciting to him that he couldn’t let it go! He even packed three clean pairs of underwear to change into, but he was through all of them before his lunch break. The aphrodisiac had his brain all fuzzy, and he was dripping constantly. During the morning, he didn’t have to battle trainers and was just making sure the railway system was functioning correctly, which he was glad for. He was in no state to battle anyone. 

Even before his break, he’s so horny he isn’t doing his job as well as he ought to be. As he sits behind his desk, he has his legs spread wide open as he grinds against the seat, trying to angle his hips just right oh please please please- He’s panting, eyes unfocused, drool dripping down on his paperwork. And then someone walks in, and he practically jumps off his chair. It rides backwards on its wheels until it knocks into the wall. Humiliating, to say the least. 

He’s so wet he can shove two fingers inside him with ease, immediately curling them and finding the sweet spot inside of him. It keeps building and building until he’s sure he’s going to cum, but nothing just happens! Ingo can’t shove himself over the edge!! He’s practically sobbing already, wrist aching from the uncomfortable position he’s forcing it in. First, he tries to listen to some of your voicemails to see if that helps, but all it does is make him realise what he really needs:

You. He needs you so, so badly. More than anything. 

Ingo calls you, and you think something terrible has happened first, because he’s sobbing so hard he can barely speak. His hands are even shaking so badly that he drops the phone once. The whole time, his fingers are still eagerly working away at himself, just trying to dip into the sweet release that will finally calm him down, but failing.

“Ingo? Please, take a few deep breaths. I don’t get what you’re saying at all.” On the other end of the line, you hear your boyfriend trying to follow your instructions, deeply in- and exhaling shuddering breaths. Obviously, you’re aware he’s under the influence of aphrodisiacs right now, but he sounds so distraught that you’re worried. Did someone figure out what he was on, or something?”

“P-please... Please come get me...” It’s all you can make out before he bursts into sobs again. You don’t respond to give him some time to calm down, but as he quiets down a bit you swear you can hear slick noises in the background, like he’s fucking himself on his fingers. And just like that: “I... I can’t do this... Can’t cum...”

When you get to Gear Station, you find himself still in the bathroom, fingering himself. He unlocked the door, just for you. His face is a deep red and is slick with tears and sweat, dripping so much that there’s a little puddle of slick on the lid underneath him. Ingo just whines your name and spreads his legs even wider, so you put your hands on the inside of your thighs. You take one lick at his sensitive clit, and he wails. But when you put your lips around it and suck, he cums instantly. He’d be screaming if you didn’t stuff some of your fingers in his half-open mouth, and still you can only hope no one heard.

He’s completely boneless after that. You can take his fingers out of him and suck them off without protest. Ingo needs a few minutes to recover, hazy eyes staring up at the ceiling as he has the tiniest smile on his face. His legs are trembling and you have to help him up. He’s leaning half of his weight on you as he walks. There’s no need to make up an excuse for why he’s going home: To any random observer, Ingo looks like he’s running a high fever and absolutely needs to go home. One of his coworkers even calls the two of you a taxi to bring you home! Thankfully, because you got him off once already, Ingo can at least last that long.

But he’s pawing at you as soon as the door closes behind you, giving you sloppy kisses while pulling at your clothes. The whole time, he’s grinding against you. When you try to tell him you should at least go to the bedroom, he whines, like the 10 seconds of walking would kill him. I guess I won’t be able to fuck you open on my cock, then. You end up telling him, and suddenly, he’s much more eager to make his way there! How surprising!!

You dive in between his legs and eat him out until your jaw is sore. Ingo is left only making the most garbled, incomprehensible noises. But every time you pull away, his hands find the back of your head, and he’s pushing you back down. It’s only when you put the toy into him and turn it on, that he’s getting impossibly louder again. At your first thrust, his mouth hangs open in a silent scream, but then there’s an endless stream of moans flowing from his mouth. He’s too exhausted to meet your movements, but that doesn’t make his enthusiasm any less obvious.

Slick, wet noises ring out with each of your movements, and you can see him squirt with each orgasm. You’re both sweaty and exhausted. Eventually, you end up collapsing on top of him while you catch your breath, your cock still vibrating inside of him as he begs for more. Ingo collects the last bits of his energy to grind against you, garnering enough thought to form a full sentence:

“Pleasepleaseplease... F-fill me up again... I want your cum inside me so... so much...” 

You hold onto him while you’re on the verge of passing out and sleeping, shallowly grinding your cock into him as he moans in delight, left completely and utterly wrecked.

...When you wake up the next morning, it’s to Ingo having turned you around and already getting himself busy riding your strap. As soon as he notices you’re awake, he apologises, but he makes no move at all to stop himself. 

#i wasn't sure if the dldo would be a strap but i made it like that lol #ingo x reader #cha.ingo #a.📀

[slasherkisss]

dude.. dude.... headcanons or scenario literally whatever u'd prefer but just s/o pegging venom but it's their first time and theyre so excited but also nervous and venom's just like "finally someone to fucking sub for" bc we all know eddie is the biggest bottom and he just.. eddie can't top im sorry

[oh you know venom and eddie get pegged like. hardcore.]

You have to sit down and talk to both Eddie AND Venom about this, mostly because you want to peg Venom but it's Eddie's body and you want him to be okay with that

It's almost impressive how quickly they both agree, Eddie flushing and getting more embarrassed about it than Venom does

The three of you go shopping together at the local store to find the best type of strap on for them

Their choice is what you go with in the end, since it's going to be inside of them and all

You're almost impressed when they choose a big, textured behemoth of a cock and you know your night is going to be fun

When you get to the actual pegging, Venom is the one whose mostly out

You'll find that he doesn't need too much preparation. He's probably already helped get himself ready since he doesn't want to waist time

Slide the dildo in as slow as you can. He'll beg for it so beautifully

Use sheets you don't care about because his claws will sink into them and tear them apart as he keens into you

When you bottom out in him, strands of symbiote wrap around your legs to keep you all but cemented inside of him in a desperate attempt to feel you fully

He likes it when you go slow at first, but then pick up your pace until you're ramming into his prostate

The moans he makes are guttural and nearly vibrate up your body as he buries his head into your shoulder

His tongue slides out to lick and wrap around your neck as he continues to make noises

Stroke his cock roughly while you fuck into him and he'll come undone in an instant

If you delay his orgasm though it'll make him all the more needy and sensitive

After you make him cum he'll want you to stay inside of him a while longer and just hold him there

His recovery time is amazing, and will eat you out as a return 'thank-you' gesture for giving him such pleasure

Afterwards if you talk to Eddie about it he'll just give a dazed but contented thumbs up, his body still shaking from the experience of it all

Please give this man aftercare

#venom #venom x reader #venom imagine #eddie brock #eddie brock x reader #eddie brock imagine #lemon

[mrskurono]

My brain is like short circuiting at the thought of a threesome with Kuroo & Bokuto w/ a femdom reader. Like Kuroo prob has a hair pulling kink when your grind your clit against his mouth as you sit on his face, playing with the remote of vibrating cock ring that’s on him w/ your free hand. At the same time you’re edging Bokuto while you suck his cock, telling him that he can only cum when he’s ordered to.

Alright honestly...it’s been a hot minute since I wrote anything Haikyuu!! and these two....oh these two are the gayest fucking thing of that entire show. Sorry anon I may or may not have tweaked a few things bc the HQ men giving rimjobs have really been on my mind lately ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Kuroo x Bokuto x fem!reader

tags: dom!reader, toy usage (hitachi wand), face sitting (male to male), rimjob, big power bottom Bokuto vibes, overstimmed Kuroo, light bondage, nipple play, pet names, threesome (mmf), a lot of male on male action, dirty talk, idk man pwp

character(s): Kuroo Tetsuro (hq) Bokuto Kotaro (hq)

nsfw undercut ⇾ ⇾ ⇾

“Bo’s tongue feels that good huh? Your gonna cum just from his tongue on your ass already mister big shot?”

Tetsuro shook his head vigorously. Almost like he was convincing himself as much as he was you. 

With the sharp rise of his chest Bo could be heard under both of you with his moans. Untouched completely. Cock standing at attention from the second Tetsuro knelt over his face. And yet Bo was the one moaning like a whore as he wiggled his tongue without remorse against Tetsuro’s ass.

“Sounds like the big bad ace likes what he’s doing....” Your words trail down like your touch to the vibrating wand that had been left on full speed and snug right under the man’s balls. Tetsuro pulled against his cuffs to no avail. They were pink and fuzzy but god did they do their job, “Now why aren’t you doing your job and giving me all your cum baby?”

Taking the vibrating head of the wand from under his cock. You lean forward on Bo’s stomach so you have a better grip on Tetsuro’s cock as you grip him firmly with one hand and begin moving the wand up and down the top of his cock slowly. Far worse than just being left to his balls. Tetsuro didn’t mean to jerk his hips up. Met quickly with Bo’s broad hands gripping his hips and holding him in place to not interrupt his meal. Leaving his partner to groan like a pathetic mess.

“I- I wanna cum-” The black haired man finally managed some semblance of thought, “ ‘s badly please-”

“Tetsuro knows his manners so well~” Your teasing coo comes with you pulling yourself up to him even closer. Not to kiss him. No instead your lips graze over his nipple and you hear the breath catch in Tetsuro’s chest once more, “I’m not the one doing the hard work....I think you should be telling that too Bo.”

The begging suddenly came easier than the manners.

“Bo please- God please let me cum-” Tetsuro looked at you directly as his words fell from his mouth, almost like he wanted your praise for his begging, “Please let me cum on your mouth- I’ll do anything- I need to cum I need-”

“You hear that Bo?” You lean forward and grin as your tongue swirls slowly around Tetsuro’s nipple and your hand firmly holds the vibrating wand against the head of his now purple aching cock, “Tetsuro was a good boy. Good boys can cum now if they want.”

Another muffled moan from Bo. His knuckles nearly white with how hard he was holding onto Tetsuro’s thighs at this point. You couldn’t see what the owl man was doing but having been familiar with his tongue you were certain he’d give Tetsuro exactly what he wanted.

Tongue working more than just a weak orgasm out of him. When Bo pressed his face up into Tetsuro and you drew the wand down his cock it was too much. Tetsuro’s weak attempt to keep quiet for nothing when a shuddering orgasm ran through his body. 

The way he trembled on Bo’s face. Thighs quaking from his own orgasm and the onslaught of the tongue fucking him and vibrations on his cock head. Thick milky cum streaked its way across Bo’s chest. Some landing on your thighs. But most of it painting the broad volleyballer’s chest as Tetsuro’s cock bounced with each spurt of cum leaving his trembling body.

You pulled the wand away. But Bo didn’t stop his work. Tetsuro pleading for Bo to give him a break even as his cock couldn’t spare even a drop more cum. Giggling you swipe up some of the cum and smear it on Tetsuro’s cock while grinning up at him.

“You know how he gets...” Your words like cruel music to his ears as your hand slowly begin stroking him off with his cum as the lube, “Bo gets this excited...only way to get him to stop.” 

Leaning a bit to the side Tetsuro’s eyes go directly to the other man’s cock. For the third time now his breath hitches in his throat. He knew why Bo was so good with his tongue.....Because it was the only way to take all of him without crying over his size. Cock still hard and insides aching. Tetsuro licked his lips knowing at some point he’d be on his back getting fucked with you on his face. And nothing sounded better.

#threethirst #hq smut #hq!! #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!! #kuroo tetsurō #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro smut #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #tetsurō kuroo smut #bokuto x kuroo #bokuto koutarou #bokuto #bokuto x reader #bokuto smut #bokuto kotarou #bokuto koutarou smut

[darling-drag-brainrot]

DRABBLES? 👀 i would like some crygi bc the gigi brainrot is real

Of course my friend!!! Crygi for the soul :))) I love them so bad they are everything to me!!!

+ + +

Gigi's heart stopped in her chest. What the-? What the fuck was that noise?

She immediately took off running, nearly tripping over herself in her haste to locate her lovely girlfriend and find out what the fuck had just happened. Had Crystal gotten herself hurt? Had she found out some supremely earth-shatteringly bad news? That shriek had sounded nearly inhuman!

God what the hell was going on?

Visions of Crystal passed out on the floor or sobbing at the worst news imaginable flashed before Gigi's eyes and she found herself nearly breathless as she reached the top of the staircase, heading toward their bedroom to slam open the door with the power of a woman on a mission.

She expected blood. She expected tears.

What she got instead was Crystal, fetal position on the floor, clutching her phone like a lifeline.

Fuck.

"Baby?" Gigi asked quietly, bending down to place a hand on her girlfriend's arm, "What happened? Is something wrong? Are you alright?"

Crystal seemed startled by Gigi's sudden presence at her side, eyes wide and hazy as she looked up.

A beat.

Then, in a voice that trembled and shook, Crystal murmured, "He announced it."

"What? Who announced what baby? Something happen?"

Crystal nodded. God she was practically shivering.

"He announced the new one."

"The new what baby? You have to be more clear."

Crystal swallowed thickly, handing her phone with her still trembling hand to Gigi.

Gigi looked at the screen, prepared for the worst.

Instead of the worst she was greeted with a picture of an oddly familiar man. A man in a white blouse and somewhat baggy jeans. Standing in a room. With... with furniture on the ceiling?

What the-?

She scanned the screen for more information then she saw it.

Harry's House. May 20th.

Harry's House. It all clicked in place. This guy was Harry Styles.

"Harry Styles is releasing a new album?"

Crystal let out a loud screech, just like the one that had caused Gigi's initial panic.

"YES HE IS! GOD I LOVE HIM SO MUCH! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? A NEW ALBUM! I'VE BEEN WAITING YEARS! I WONDER IF IT'LL BE AS GOOD AS FINE LINE? IT LOOKS SO CUTE! ARE YOU LOOKING AT HIS OUTFIT? I MEAN HE'S NOWHERE AS GORGEOUS AS YOU BUT HE'S SOOOOOOO CUTE! I'M SCREAMING! I'M SOBBING! I NEED TO TEXT NICKY AND JAIDA AND DAYA ABOUT THIS ASAP!"

Gigi blinked slowly. The anger rushed through her in haphazard waves.

Crystal had let out that ear-piercing, panic-inducing wail over Harry Styles announcing a new album? That's what this was about? It was ridiculous! It was juvenile! It was-

"OMG BABE YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO IT WITH ME WHEN IT COMES OUT!"

Crystal looked up at her with a grin, vibrating with energy, as she scrambled to sit up- pulling Gigi into a tight hug.

"WE NEED TO RELISTEN TO BOTH HIS OTHER ALBUMS RIGHT NOW."

Okay... maybe it wasn't that bad now that Gigi was thinking about it.

"WAIT OMG REMEMBER 'SUNFLOWER, VOL. 6' WE NEED TO LISTEN TO THAT ONE FIRST RIGHT NOW!"

Crystal was now on her feet, dragging Gigi with her before twirling them around, singing at the top of her lungs, "I couldn't want you anymore - kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor - I couldn't want you anymore - toniiiiiight!"

Oh goddamn it, Gigi couldn't be angry for even a second. Even if Crystal had scared her half to death with her shrieking. Crystal was clearly over the moon with the news, to the point that she was serenading her. What a goof!

"Alright alright you dork!" Gigi giggled, letting Crystal spin her around the room, "We'll listen to his albums together! You're soooo excited about this, you haven't even heard the songs yet!"

Crystal just kept smiling, twirling them both around over and over as she laughed, "I'm a billion percent sure that I'll love the songs the second I hear them! It's Harry Styles after all! His music is always god tier!" Then she pulled Gigi closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips that made her heart flutter in her chest, "Not as god tier as you, but pretty close."

"Ah shut up you dork."

Crystal shook her head, "Nope! No can do! I just love you so much! I guess you could say... I want you to rock me~ rock me~ rock me yeah~ I want you to hit the pedal~ heavy metal~ show me you care~"

Gigi rolled her eyes, trying her best not to break out into a smile, "Stop singing One Direction songs at me you dork, you're not making yourself seem any less geeky!"

"What? You insecure? Don't know what for? You turning heads when you walk through the dooooor? Don't need makeup? To cover up? Being the way that you are is enough?"

"Shut up!"

Crystal snorted a laugh, "Never. You love me. And you love my Directioner antics."

Gigi wanted to deny it. She really wanted to. But admittedly she was weak. She was weak for her precious girlfriend and her adorable smile and the fact she was the most over the top Directioner she had ever met in her life.

"Okay maybe I do love you. What about it?"

"I mean... If you don't wanna take it slow - and you just want to take me home - baby say yeah, yeah, yeah - yeah, yeah - and let me kiss you~"

"Oh god stop talking!" Gigi cackled, pulling her girlfriend closer before kissing her with a laugh, "If I keep kissing you will you stop singing One Direction?"

Crystal shrugged, "Maybe... I mean... I'm in love with you..." she kissed Gigi back before winking, "And all your little things~"

#hehehehe One Direction mixed with Crygi time #Yes I am a Harry Styles stan and yes I will make that everyone else's problemm #I had a similar reaction to Crystal upon hearing the announcement for his new album btw (minus the screaming) #Please this was SUCH an excuse to write Crystal as a frantic Directioner and Harry Styles stan #She's just like me fr fr

[phykios]

i meant to have this up on friday but i didn’t bc i’m lame anyway, this is dedicated to my dearest dearest peyton 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙 one year ago last friday i had the distinct pleasure of sliding into her dms on discord, several fics and 72 separate aus later, here we are. so, for our friendiversary, have a sexy origin story for percabeth 😁

Say So, for @darkmagyk​ [read on ao3] rated E for sexual content (spicy!!! pls be advised!!!) cw: recreational drug use, experimental bondage, and an accidental hit during intercourse

“I don’t think it’s working,” Annabeth says.

“Just give it a minute.” Sofia sounds gone already, hazy and dreamy.

She gives it a minute.

“Am I supposed to feel something?”

“Yeah.”

“Well I’m not.”

“You gotta be patient,” says Jordan. Throaty and full, her already deep voice is even deeper, almost vibrating in the air.

Annabeth blinks. “Maybe they gave you actual grass. Or maybe I’m too much of a square for it to affect me.” Sofia snorts. “I’m serious. You know at my summer camp they started giving me counselor responsibilities when I was twelve? Percy always said I wouldn’t know what fun was if it hit me in the face. And it’s not like he was wrong, like I spent most of my childhood reading ancient Greek or learning how to use a knife but there were some pretty ridiculous extenuating circumstances and I really wanted this older boy at camp to like me, and why am I talking so fast?”

Masako giggles. “You’re stoned.”

“I am?”

“Stoned,” she confirms.

“High,” says Sofia.

“Intoxicated!” sings Jordan.

“Oh, wow.” She can feel every blade of grass beneath her, tickling along her bare legs, the wind caressing her face, the sounds of Berkeley--frat boys playing Ultimate, rush-hour traffic, a thousand different conversations about nothing and everything--muffled behind a glass wall. “I’m high.”

Sofia laughs. “How does it feel?”

“It feels…” She licks her lips. They taste like avocado fries and sunshine. “It feels like…” Slow. The turn of the earth so soft and gentle, like the tides in the lake when Percy is in a good mood. Like the liminal space between sleepfulness and wakefulness, when you’ve taken a nap and can’t remember what year it is. Like wading through a magical time spell, but warm. “You know what I mean?”

“Annabeth,” says Masako. “You didn’t say anything.”

“What?” She raises her head, looking over at her friend. Her eyes are closed, her hands running along the grass of the quad. “I didn’t?”

“Nothing.”

Annabeth lets her head fall back, thumping the earth. “Oh, theoi, I’m high.”

Overcome, Jordan starts laughing, curling onto her side. The rest aren’t far behind. 

Soon they’re not laughing at her anymore, they’re just laughing to laugh. Laughter is fun, she realizes, her breath and blood whooshing through her body, every muscle and bone in her body united in one single pursuit of joy. Her eyes are squeezed shut, cheeks aching from the force of her smile, her body curled in on itself, wracked with euphoria.

Sofia giggles so hard she snorts, setting them all off again.

Wading through an onslaught of laughter, high and squeaky, Annabeth gasps out, “Why am I laughing so much?”

“Because you’re high, girl!” Jordan crows. She has turned herself over on her front, her face pressed against the grass. “Have you really never gotten high before?”

“Don’t tease her,” says Sofia, awkwardly patting Annabeth’s knee. “You know she hasn’t done anything.”

She has done stuff, she almost says--before she shuts her mouth with an audible clack.

“Not even at your camp?” Jordan asks, befuddled. Befuddled is a funny word. “No one ever snuck in some alcohol or whatever?”

Thoughts running at a snail’s pace, she has to seriously rack her brain to think if one of the Hermes’ kids ever brought in any illicit substances. Soda, minor monsters, the most powerful weapon ever created--but not any alcohol or marijuana. She thinks. “Our camp director was really strict about alcohol.”

“Lame,” says Masako.

“I mean, he was in recovery,” says Annabeth, her go-to story about Mr. D, just in case anyone ever asks. “It was a whole thing. He couldn’t have it, so we couldn’t have it.” 

“Not lame,” she amends.

“Okay, I think,” she says, a memory appearing out of the fog, after Gaea, after all that nonsense, “I think my co-counselor Katie made some joints out of bay leaves once.” 

The younger kids had gone to bed, sent off with a healthy dose of Clovis’ dream magic to ward away any nightmares, but the older campers had stayed up, huddled around the central brazier into the wee hours of the morning. Still so exhausted she could barely see straight, falling asleep on top of Percy, he had hauled her away to bed, but not before he had declined something for the both of them, something small and white and made to be smoked.

“You can get high off of bay leaves?” Sofia asks. 

Annabeth nods. “That’s how the… the fucking…” the word was on the tip of her tongue. The thing that Rachel did. But long ago. Oracle! “The Oracle, she got high, in ancient Greece. With bay leaves. She’d smoke them and receive prophecy.”

Jordan lifts her head. “Cool. You got ancient Greek high.”

Annabeth nearly says something about Olympus, or maybe Blackjack, an amazing joke about being high and Greek just on the tip of her tongue, but she has just enough self control not to. “No, I was tired. Percy and I went to bed.” 

“Laaaaaaaaame,” says Masako.

It’s just good-natured ribbing. And they’re all high as kites. But Annabeth still frowns. “I’m not lame.”

“You’re amazing, don’t get me wrong,” Masako says, “but you are so lame. You’ve never gotten high before, you’re probably going to marry your first boyfriend… you are so vanilla.”

“And we love that about you!” Sofia jumps in.

Annabeth can’t feel bad right now, but she can feel a little lost. “But I love Percy,” she says. “Why wouldn’t I marry him?”

Percy is perfect. He’s handsome and kind and powerful and funny and brave and handsome. He’s more than anyone could hope for. And he loves her. 

“You’re really going to marry him?” Jordan asks. “Like, for real?”

She shrugs. “Yeah, but he says he can’t propose before he finds the perfect ring. He promised he wouldn’t make me wait too long. I don’t want to have Chase on my diploma.” 

“Oh my god,” Masako giggles, “you’re even more vanilla than I thought.” 

“The dick can’t be that good,” Jordan muses, examining a particularly long blade of grass. 

It is, but they don’t need to know that. 

Sofia snorts. “It is?”

Oh, fuck. Annabeth giggles. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“Tell us!” Masako sits bolt upright, eyes wide. “Tell us everything!”

She slams her hands over her face. “Noooo,” she laughs, curling in on herself further. “I can’t.”

All at once, they scream, like the three Erinyes swooping down onto an unsuspecting prey. Or the Cabin Ten campers when someone gets too close with any stray ketchup.

“Spill!” they shriek. “Spill!”

No one has ever demanded to know the details of her sex life before. Even at camp, she and Percy are given a wide berth. Something about walking through Tartartus with your partner apparently takes your sex life from giggle-worthy to kind of intimidating. That’s the biggest difference between her demigod friends and her mortal friends, Annabeth is finding. Other than that, they’re pretty much exactly the same. “What do you want to know?” she asks, naively.

The floodgates open.

“When did you guys first do it?”

“Where?”

“How was it?”

“What does he like?”

“His abs though--”

“Is he good at head?”

“Favorite position!”

“His dick is big, I just know it--”

Over and over, overlapping, a whirlwind of questions, she can’t process them nearly as fast as they are coming--all she can do is laugh, breathless and airy, until they all dissolve into giggles once again.

She’s getting a little tired of this constant laughing.

Even that thought makes her start all over again.

“Okay,” she gasps, “okay, I can’t--I can’t answer all of those.”

Jordan waves her arms. “Me first! First time!”

Annabeth shrugs. “Um, it was… the weekend of Thanksgiving, a few months after we started dating. His parents were at a mixer for their writing group, and I was staying with them during my school break.” What else is she supposed to say? That they’d been talking about it for weeks? That Annabeth had been so excited she’d forgotten to even ask him about condoms? That Percy had been so concerned with making sure he got her off and didn’t hurt her that he’d spent almost an hour fingering her? 

They squeal in unison. “His parents’ house!” Sofia gasps, hands on her face. “So scandalous! How was it?”

Annabeth blushes. “Amazing.” 

And it had been, as amazing as a first time can be. Any person could only ever dream of having a partner as attentive and respectful as Percy for their first time.

“If he’s the only one you’ve ever had, how do you know it was that good?” Jordan asks. “I thought my first boyfriend was good, too, right up until I started dating Julie.” 

“I think three consecutive orgasms counts as being good,” Annabeth drawls.

Once again, the screaming.

“Three?” shrieks Masako.

“Three.”

“Your first time?!”

“He was really really really concerned I wouldn’t get off!” 

Sofia collapses on top of her, hands scrabbling for her shoulders, and always, always giggling. “You marry that boy--you marry him right now!”

“I’m trying!”

“And it’s still good?” Masako’s eyes are as wide as saucers.

Normally, she might be a little reluctant to share--even with Piper. The eighth of this edible, though, is certainly helping grease the wheels of conversation. “It’s always good.”

Jordan groans, throwing a handful of grass in her face. “Bullshit.”

“Always?”

She frowns, really thinking about it, trying to remember a time it was bad. It’s surprisingly really hard. “Sometimes we don’t have time for three orgasms.” 

“How often do you fake it?”

“What do you mean?” Annabeth asks Masako.

“You know… fake it.”

“Why would I fake it? If I fake it, he won’t know I haven’t come yet.” She laughs, more than a giggle but less than a guffaw. It’s so silly. Whoever thought of faking an orgasm?  “How would I even do that?” 

“You’ve never faked it?” Sofia is incredulous, her jaw hanging open. 

Annabeth sits up, flailing a little, reaching forward to touch her toes. Just because. “Of course not. Do people actually do that?”

“Sure,” says Masako. “Sometimes.”

“Why?” 

“I hate you,” Jordan moans, “I hate you so much, you and your stupid sex god boyfriend who makes love to you every night like you’re in some trashy period drama with the…” Her hands come up, weakly making a wavy shape in the air. “The things. You know.”

Masako tilts her head. “Hoop skirts?”

Sofia pitches forward, hands coming flat on the grass. “Okay, Annabeth. Prove to us you’re not vanilla. Craziest place you’ve ever done it.”

All three girls lean in, now, expectant, hungry.

Annabeth frowns.

Where was the craziest place they had done it?

They’d done it a lot in the last few years. His apartment in the city, Cabin Three, her boarding school room… 

Oh. Right.

She flushes.

They lean in even closer.

Well, she can’t tell them about the time they had sex in the temple of Neptune in New Rome, but she can tell them about--“One time, at camp,” she mumbles, playing with a shoelace, “we… Percy is in charge of the boathouse, because--because he’s so good at sailing, you know? So, one day, we both passed our chores off to a couple other counselors, then he took out one of the canoes, rowed us out into the middle of the lake, and…” She glances up, bashful.

Cue the screaming. 

Annabeth covers her face with her arms, falling back down onto the quad.

“At your summer camp!” Masako cries, gleeful. 

“My word!” Playfully kicking her ankle, Jordan pretends to fan herself, like Hazel still does sometimes when she’s startled by something really risque. “Imagine if the children had seen you!”

The children hadn’t seen them, but the naiads definitely had--and had tried to capsize them for their trouble. She hadn’t been able to do any lake-related activities for a week without getting soaked by a stray wave which, coincidentally, managed to avoid hitting everyone else.

“What else?” Sofia asks, practically vibrating. “Craziest kink!”

“Um…” She frowns, screwing up her face so she thinks extra hard. Have they… done anything kinky? They have sex a lot, yeah, and not always in their bedrooms, but other than that… “I… don’t… know…”

Sex with Percy is always amazing--that’s not a lie. But, maybe it’s gotten a little… same-y.

“Well, well, well.” Sofia slow-claps it out, her rings clinking together. “I think she’s ready for the big leagues, don’t you, girls?” 

Through her fingers, Annabeth glances at her. “What do you mean?”

“Bondage.”

“Bondage?” She blinks. “Like, tying each other up?”

Annabeth doesn’t think she’s ever been tied up before. Well, except for the time she wanted to hear the Sirens, but Percy had left her with her knife, so that didn’t really count. 

“Last time I met up with Skylar, we went back to his, and he has this old-timey bed frame, with the slats, right? So I took the belt from my dress, and--”

“Okay, okay,” Annabeth cuts in, covering her face again. “I get the point.”

Maybe her friends have a point. Maybe she is a little vanilla.

Sofia pats her knee. “Next time you guys have sex--”

“So, in like, three hours,” Jordan snorts.

“--take a scarf or a tie or whatever and tie his hands to the headboard. Trust me, he will flip. Out.”

Annabeth nods, taking mental notes. “Hands to the headboard. Got it.” She’s not sure if he even has any ties, but she’s resourceful. She can cobble something together. “And… then what?”

Sofia shrugs. “Kiss him. Do a striptease. Leave him there. I dunno. Whatever you want.”

Masako scrambles to her feet, windmilling to keep her balance. “The Bon Me truck just pulled up,” she gasps, “and I am starving.”

And thus, that particular conversation is over, thanks to the munchies.

***

Truth be told, she kind of forgets it pretty much entirely. Most of that day is gone, the finer details swallowed up in a haze of heat waves and peanut sauce.

That is, until New Rome’s annual pre-Saturnalia mixer: dress code, lighter side of formal. Whatever that means. 

“Hey, babe?” Percy pokes his head in the bathroom, button-down half undone. “I need your eye for a second.”

She grunts around the bobby pin held between her teeth, sliding another one through some hitherto-unknown dimension to hold a curl in place. 

“What do you think, this tie with this jacket?” He holds the two of them together, the black and white Greek key pattern contrasting nicely against the navy blue fabric. “Or will that cause an incident?”

“Probably an incident,” she says, slowly, slipping the bobby pin from her mouth. Then, a thought poking at the back of her skull. “How long have you had that?”

He glances at it. “The tie? Paul gave it to me for graduation.”

“That was nice of him.”

“I’m pretty sure he got it from the Met gift shop, but yeah.” All smiles, he slides the jacket on, tie crumpled in his balled fist. “You’re right, no tie.”

She grunts, noncommittal, gaze sliding away as she tries to remember… something.

“You good?”

“...Yeah,” she says, eventually. “Just spaced out for a second.”

“Alright. You about ready to go?”

She glances at her hair in the mirror, the makeup on the counter. “Give me twenty.”

“Sure thing.” Then he goes out, a few moments of silence passing before she hears the sink turn on as he takes care of the dishes. 

How in Hades did she end up with the perfect man? Truly.

Percy continues to exude perfection at the party, despite the fact that he is clearly less than comfortable, not that she can blame him. Some of the older citizens of New Rome are a little less reserved with their opinions of the Greeks, Percy’s hand clenching around his glass of sparkling grape juice every time someone badmouths camp, their home, but they both relax as soon as they finish making the rounds of NRU’s board of trustees and other college officials, peeling away to find Frank and Reyna and the rest of their friends. 

Still, Annabeth can’t quite focus. 

“Hey.” Percy leans in, his hand against the small of her back, murmuring into her ear. “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” Gods, his hand is so big and warm. All that time in the gym is paying off, too, the weedy, skinny teenager she fell in love with blossoming into a young man, broad shoulders and firm chest like a Phidian sculpture.

“You’re just kind of quiet tonight. Did you sleep okay?”

She blinks at him, thoughts coming back into focus. “Uh--yeah, I’m good. Just--”

“Spaced out for a second?” Making a face, he grins back at her, unrepentant. “You wanna ditch the party?”

“Do you?”

He looks around, eyeing Hylla Ramirez-Arellano as she loudly boasts about being Jeff Bezos’ findom. “A little.”

Well, Annabeth is happy to be his excuse. 

Citing a (completely fake) headache, they make their graceful exit, walking back to their apartment in the cool California night, hand in hand, Percy carrying her heels as she walks barefoot down the sidewalks. 

It’s a quiet night. Percy squeezes her hand every few steps, and she squeezes back, lifting her face to the clear night sky, thoughts she can’t catch slipping through the cracks like wisps of clouds across the moon. But that’s okay. She’s pretty sure they’re good thoughts.

“You sure you’re alright?” Percy asks as they get home, closing the door behind them. “You've been kind of out of it all night.”

Kissing him on the cheek, she shrugs out of her nice coat, slipping it up on their makeshift coat rack, fashioned from a piece of driftwood that had nearly conked Percy on the head the first time they ever went down to the beach. “I’m fine, Percy, promise. Just kind of a bleh day, you know? Nothing a few cuddles and a movie won’t fix.”

At that, he beams, dropping Annabeth’s shoes on the floor. “I’ll get the popcorn!”

"Let me shower first," Annabeth says. Hopefully a shower will clear her head a little.

It doesn't.

Changing into her pajamas, she ruffles her curls with her microfiber towel, frowning as she comes out of the bathroom. Percy's good habits are rubbing off on her; she's left a lot of crap lying around that needs picking up. Collecting stray bobby pins from the vanity, a curling iron from the top of the dresser, and an alternate dress option from where she had left it on the bed, she putters about the room, tidying as she goes, when she stops. Percy's tie lays crumbled at the head of the bed where he had tossed it earlier.

She picks it up, running it between her fingers. It's not exactly silk, but it's still a decently strong weave, machine-made for mass production, inoffensively soft. Annabeth wraps it around her finger, pulling tight, and a flash of heat rushes through her, like a wave off the lava climbing wall. 

“So there’s this guy on Youtube who makes popcorn with Lao Gan Ma spicy chili crisp, and it sounded absolutely amazing,” says Percy, walking into their room, popcorn bowl in hand. Annabeth whips around, the tie crumpled in her fist. “I tried to keep the spice level down, but let me know if it’s too much and I can make another one.”

Annabeth blinks, momentarily uncomprehending. “Uh--sure! Sounds good.”

“Did you pick a movie while you were in the shower?”

“Um…” Was she supposed to? “Your choice.”

“The Sopranos okay?” he asks, climbing onto their bed, twisting around to grab his laptop from the side table. His shirt rides up a little, a sliver of waist and hip peeking out at her.

“Sure.” She likes The Sopranos. It’s a little soapy, but usually she has no problem following along. 

Keyword being usually.

She’s tucked herself into Percy’s side the way she usually does, her head against his, his arm around her shoulders, his thumb ghost along the bare skin of her bicep. He smells really good today, sea salt and cinnamon and chili oil, a testament to his busy day in the kitchen. He’s so warm, always, six feet of dense, packed muscle practically radiating heat. Annabeth could fall asleep right there. She often does. 

Shifting for the sixth time in what must be five minutes, she snuggles into his chest, curling and uncurling her toes. There’s no denying it--she can feel herself getting hotter, a flame in her center, soft and pulsing, reaching every part of her.

How she wishes she could blame it on The Sopranos.

Annabeth presses her nose into his neck, breathing him in, laying a kiss under his ear. Then another on his jaw. And another at the corner of his lips. And one on his mouth, tilting him towards her for better access. He goes, easily, without resistance. 

At some point, the popcorn bowl is moved. 

Then, Percy shuts his laptop closed during Livia’s wake. 

“Hey,” Annabeth murmurs into his mouth, draped over him like some kind of blanket. “I wanna try something.”

He hums, kissing her again. “Okay?”

She reaches behind him, beneath the pillow. She’s not sure why she had stashed it there, rather than hanging it back up in the closet, but she pulls out the tie, holding Percy’s gaze without breaking. “I thought,” she breathes, pressing her chest against him, incentivizing, “you know... if you want to."

His eyes darken, even as his face tries to give nothing away. "You wanna tie me up?"

Lip between her teeth, she nods.

Slowly, controlled, he blows his breath out, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek. "You sure?" he asks, desire rumbling in his chest.

She frowns. "Yeah." Does he not want to?

"Okay," he says, twisting a curl around his finger. "Just want to make sure we’re on the same page here.”

Or maybe worse, does he think she can’t? “Okay.”

Straightening up, she straddles him. He lifts his arms obediently, never breaking eye contact, bracing them against their headboard. It’s not really conducive for this sort of thing, but she threads the tie through the wooden slats easily enough, tying his wrists together, leaning in closer than she needs to so that her chest pushes up against his face.

There. All tied up and ready to go.

She leans back on her knees, taking in the whole pretty picture.

Rhythmically, subconsciously, Percy tests the strength of the bonds, flexing the muscles in his arms. His mouth hangs open, his hips shifting beneath her as he tries to get comfortable, cock hard through his sweatpants.

Annabeth scrambles off him, and he tries to follow, chest jerking as the tie holds him back. He grunts, surprised, shoulders straining, before he falls back, defeated, huffing angrily, a low growl which connects to the pit of her stomach. “Nice try, Percy,” she smirks, sauntering around to the foot of the bed, keenly aware of his gaze as it tracks her, hands on her hips. “It’s my show tonight.”

“Your show, huh?” He settles back against the headboard, wine-dark gaze boring into her. “By all means, then. Give me a show.”

She glares, grinding her teeth. Doesn’t he know she’s calling the shots right now? 

Well, fine. If he wants a show, he’ll get a show. 

Annabeth is… not a particularly graceful person normally, but on the battlefield, she knows she shines. Give her a knife and an enemy, and she can put the greatest dancers to shame. Well, in this case, Percy is the enemy, and… her clothes… are the knife. Or something like that. It makes more sense in her head.

Slowly, she grasps the hem of her sleep shirt, peeling it up over her chest, the fabric blocking her vision for a brief moment as she slips it over her head. When Percy comes back into view, his eyes have darkened just that much more, almost straining with the effort not to stare at her chest, even as it’s presented for his explicit viewing pleasure.

Annabeth does not have much in the way of breasts--never has. It doesn’t seem to bother him, which is nice. Besides, Percy is more of a leg man, as he has expressed several times. So, legs next. 

Her sleep shorts aren’t very sexy, old, threadbare things which had once been yoga pants. When she started gaining a little more weight, and the pants could no longer reach her ankles, she had cut them in a fit of impulsivity, stretching the fabric and sewing herself a new hem, giving her skin more room to breathe. And giving Percy more space to slip his fingers up, the horny bastard. 

She turns around, lamenting the loss, as she so wanted to see his face as she bends over, sticking out her ass, slowly slipping the waistband down. From behind, she hears a faint pickup in breathing. 

Over her ass, down her thighs and her knees. She thinks she hears a groan, muffled behind a bitten lip. She lifts up one foot, then the other, leaving the shorts in a puddle by her feet. Clad only in her panties now--black, lacy, but not due to any pre-planning on her part, unless you count the laundry just about overflowing in the closet hamper--she straightens back up, her hands going to her hair, running her fingers through it in some kind of approximation of sexy.

She turns around, and is greeted with his look of naked longing, his throat working as he swallows, full lower lip firmly in his teeth. His fists are clenched, the muscles of his forearms big and bulging, his heels pushing into the mattress.

She takes a step forward, her fingers teasing the edge of her panties. She won’t take them off, not yet, just torment him a little, lifting the fabric and letting it slap back down to her skin, then she’ll climb back on top of him, hump him through his sweatpants until he’s begging--

Annabeth catches her foot on the fabric puddle. Tripping, she throws out her hands, aiming to catch herself on the decorative chest they keep at the foot of their bed, her weak ankle buckling as it tries to keep her steady--then she jams her toe into the metal strut. Hard.

“Mother fucker!”

She goes down.

“Annabeth!”

Through the white hot haze of pain, she can barely see, but she can certainly feel it as a pair of strong arms picks her up from the floor, laying her on the bed, a big hand taking her weaker foot, fingers delicately prodding the offending toe, skimming over the sensitive skin. “Percy?” she moans, seeing stars. “What--”

“Nothing feels sprained,” he murmurs, kissing her ankle. “Looks like you just slammed it. Let me get some ice.” And he leaves her for a moment.

Wasn’t he tied up a minute ago?

The bed dips beside her as Percy takes her foot again, carefully laying one of their smaller ice packs across the throbbing flesh. Her vision clears, blink by blink, and as his concerned but fond face slowly comes into focus, she also spies something trailing from his wrist--a strip of black and white fabric. 

His tie. Snapped in half. Still attached to him. “Did you…?” she trails off.

He flicks his eyes down to his wrist, and flushes, lightly. “Oh. I, uh, guess I did. I didn’t even notice.”

Annabeth’s body grows hot in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with shame. 

“Anyway,” he coughs, dry and useless. “Um, maybe we should call it a night?”

Hiding her face in her arms, she nods. 

***

They try again the next week.

While dictating her notes via speech-to-text, Annabeth had spent the last couple of days occupied with making her own rope, stronger and softer than the ones she had seen in her Incognito Mode searches while doing her business in the bathroom. BDSM rope is surprisingly really expensive, especially the less abrasive stuff, but more than that, she feels kind of… well, it’s weird, the idea of spending money on bondage shit when they’d only tried it once, and not very successfully at that. Like, how about they make sure they actually like it first, says the little Percy in her head who occasionally keeps her from making too many impulse purchases, and then they can upgrade their gear? 

Also, she’s confident her stuff is on par with the really expensive gear anyway. Plus, it’s blue!

And when she dangles it in front of his face, straddling him once again as she slides her wet pussy over his briefs, practically soaking them, he lifts his arms again, a quiet acquiescence, even as his jaw clenches in the barest hint of displeasure. 

Every day Percy does something new to make her fall in love with him. That he trusts her so much to let her tie him up, immobilize him, take away his control like this, even though he’s so clearly hesitant about the whole thing, that’s just today’s thing. She kisses him, soft and sweet, over and over, and he responds in kind, straining his neck to meet her. “You good?” she asks, a whisper into the space between them, and he nods. “It’s not too tight?”

“It’s fine.” She feels more than sees as he flexes his arms again, testing the strength of her rope. 

“Good.” She kisses his nose. No way he’ll be able to break these. 

The second time is already going better than the first. Having divested herself of her clothes beforehand, there’s no danger of her tripping and injuring herself as she lines herself up and sinks down on him, shuddering at the angle as she slides him inside of her. She just sits there for a moment, rocking back and forth on his lap, enjoying the way he fills her nooks and crannies, brushing up against the sensitive skin, closing her eyes against the sensation as she lifts herself up, sliding back down, up and down and up and down and up and down. 

“Fuck, Annabeth,” he moans. “Oh, fuck.”

It’s good. As always. It’s so good. 

But… something is missing.

She squeezes around him, and he hisses, bucking beneath her.

Why isn’t he touching her?

He groans, frustrated, his head making a muffled thump as it drops on the pillow.

Oh. Right.

Usually right about now he’ll go for her tits, his big hands covering them completely, deft fingers pinching and twisting her nipples in the most perfect way, so she decides to show him what he’s missing, bringing her own hands up to her chest, rolling her thumbs over her nipples, smiling as he practically growls. Unfortunately for her, for whatever sick reason, she’s not nearly as good at this as he is, her touches not really doing enough for her. And after a few minutes or so, Percy takes notice.

“Oh gods, Annabeth,” he pants, pulling his legs up behind her, the force almost tilting her forward, and she throws out her hands to catch herself, his abs tensing beneath her as she lands on them, her chest right up against his face. Quick as anything, he lifts his head up, mouth headed for her left nipple before she manages to pull herself back.

She narrows her eyes, falling back on his lap even more heavily, pushing a grunt out of him. “Nice try.”

He only grins back, shark-like, eyes dancing. “Had to give it a shot.”

Of course he did. Percy treats rules like [clever metaphor], easily broken and discarded. And now Annabeth has to punish him. 

Shit.

What are you supposed to do for punishment again? 

Her mind draws a blank.

Percy stares up at her, waiting, brow raised in challenge.

To stall for time, she squeezes around him.

She’d watched a handful of pornos for research, and in a lot of them, the dominant would strike their partner. Percy’s tough, a bit of an adrenaline junkie, and he likes his rough-housing with Clarisse and Frank and the war kids, so he’d probably like that, too, right? If someone did that to her, Annabeth would probably like it.

So she raises her hand, and she brings it down on his soft, untensed, unprepared tummy. Hard.

He jumps so high that he actually manages to buck her off. “OW!”

“Percy!” she cries, scrambling back over to him. “Oh my gods, I’m so sorry!”

“The hell was that for!” he gasps, curling in on himself as best he can with his arms still tied above his head.

“Sorry, sorry,” she gentles, almost frantic, hands hovering over his body. His belly is rapidly turning pink, the outline of her hand stark on his skin, practically radiating heat. “I just--I mean I thought--fuck, I am so sorry!”

He groans in response, eyes squeezed shut. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck--”Let--let me get you some ice, or--” she stammers, sliding off the bed.

“Can you at least untie me first?” Percy wheezes. 

“Oh my gods, yeah, hold on.” Despite her shaking fingers, the knot comes undone easily, practically falling apart, and Percy curls himself into a ball, forehead touching his knees.

Returning with an ice pack wrapped in a dish towel, she kisses his shoulder in apology, slipping it between the taut, tight bends of his body. 

He is in real, actual pain. Fuck. “I am so, so sorry,” she says again, her voice wobbling.

Squinting up at her, he tries for a reassuring smile, but falls far, far short, a pained grimace painted across his face. “It’s okay,” he rasps. 

It’s really not, but saying that isn’t going to be so helpful right now. 

Instead, she lies down next to him, resting her hand on his arm, gently stroking back and forth in hopes that it might distract him a little. She knows that whenever her ankle or her shoulder act up, all she wants is Percy’s hands on her, repetitive and soothing. Hopefully she can give back a little of the comfort that he gives her.

After a while, he starts to uncurl. “Goddamn,” he moans, still clutching the ice pack to his stomach. “Remind me never to badmouth the Yankees again.”

She forces out a chuckle for his sake, ducking her head against his. “How is it? One to ten.”

Hissing, he straightens out a little more. “Probably a four,” he says, “but a really spicy four.”

“Percy, I am so--”

“It’s okay.” He knocks his head against her chin. “Maybe just warn me next time?”

“Yeah,” she says, uneasy. Next time is not looking so likely. “Here.” 

Slowly, she helps him into a sitting position, applying extra pressure on his stomach, her hand on top of his. They breathe together, letting the sting fade away until Percy drops his head on hers. 

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

“How are you?”

“How--” she snorts, a little wet. “I’m fine, Percy.”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry about hitting you,” she says. She can’t help but look down at his stomach, pinkness peeking above the ice pack, at his dick, well and truly flaccid. “That was… not my best idea.”

“Can I ask you something?” Tearing her gaze away, she turns back to Percy. “Why are you pushing for this so hard?”

She blinks, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“Just, you’ve never really expressed an interest in kinky stuff before.” He takes her hand, cold from the ice pack, rubbing his thumb against hers, sweet and intimate. 

“Yeah, well,” she cuddles into Percy a little harder, curving her body around his shoulder. “Some of the girls at Berklee were teasing me about being a little vanilla.” None of it was mean-spirited or anything, but it had stayed with her for a while after it had resurfaced that night. Annabeth Chase, despite having run away from home at the age of seven, was a square, a teetotaler, unadventurous, the kind of woman who spent her Friday nights playing board games with a woman who typified 1930s values. Annabeth Chase, after her short, entirely too eventful life, was going to settle down, and marry the first boy she ever kissed.

It had struck a nerve.

“Being vanilla isn’t a bad thing,” he says, something like concern lacing his voice. “But, are you… not satisfied? With the physical stuff?” The unspoken ‘with me’ hangs between them, and Annabeth pulls back, looking him in the eye.

“Percy.” 

“Mm?”

Reaching up, she kisses him. “Of course not. I could never not be satisfied.”

Something in him eases, almost imperceptible if she didn’t know him as well as she does. “So…”

Shrugging, she lays her head back down on his shoulder. “I dunno. It’s just--like, I’m pretty sure you’re going to be the only person I ever sleep with--”

“Pretty sure?”

She nudges him with her foot, and he laughs, hissing a little as it jostles his stomach. “You know what I mean. I just don’t want to miss out on anything, is all.”

“Like what?”

“Like--” she gestures to the rope, lying forgotten, tangled up in the sheets. “Stuff like that. Kinky stuff.”

“Okay,” he says, slowly. At least he doesn’t think she’s crazy. That’s always nice. “I guess I’m just wondering if you’re actually into bondage and stuff or if we’re just… you know, trying it out.”

Draping a leg over him, knees pressed together, she shrugs. “It sounded pretty fun,” she mumbles into his arm. “You know. Tying you up.”

She feels him swallow, jaw working as he chooses his next words carefully. “Tying me up,” he asks, “or tying you up?”

That… gives her pause. 

“Maybe…” He turns his face towards her, nose in her hair. “We could swap?”

She frowns. “Swap?”

“If you want, I mean,” he says, quickly. “If you’re not--I would never make you do something you didn’t want to, obviously, but, I mean… if you wanted to try?”

Annabeth, for lack of anything to say, rubs her toes against his calf, comforting and grounding.

Does she want to be tied up?

Her first instinct is to refuse, obviously. She’s a warrior. Immobilization is death. And what if a monster attacks? She has to be ready for anything. That was the promise of Athena’s progeny, that they were eternally poised and ready to respond to any problem or threat.

And yet… 

The summer she turned thirteen, she had decided that she was strong enough to hear the siren’s song in the sea of monsters. At her request, Percy had tied her to the mast so she wouldn’t be able to jump in and swim to her death. He had forgotten to take her knife, and when she had, inevitably, fallen prey to their song and cannonballed right into danger, he had jumped in after her, holding her back until she had been able to pull herself out of the magic spell. 

It had been humiliating, and humbling. She hadn’t even begun to realize that she liked Percy as more than a friend at that point. But, years later, the clearest memory she has of that day is not how her pride had reared its ugly head, but instead just how safe she had felt in Percy’s arms, at the bottom of the ocean.

Here, in New Rome, in their apartment, with Percy… Well, what’s the worst that could happen? “Sure,” she says, perhaps a little more confident than she actually feels. 

“Sure?”

“Sure. Why not?” Looking up at him, she searches his gaze for any hesitation or fear, and finds none, and that, more than anything else, settles her. “I’m game.”

He looks for the same in her, and he seems to like what he finds, because he cracks a grin, laying a soft kiss on her lips.

Gingerly, still mindful of his stomach, he reaches over to grab the discarded rope. Taking her hands in his free one, he loops it around her wrists, tucking the ends into itself, tight but not constricting. Comfortable. 

Her breath catches in her throat. 

“You good?”

Nodding, she flexes her wrists outward, just to feel the tension--and she sighs, a breathy moan slipping out of her without her permission.

They freeze.

Annabeth slams her eyes shut, praying he didn’t hear her.

“...Okay then,” says Percy. 

Gods, his shit-eating grin is practically audible. “Shut up.”

“Excuse me?” He leans in, kissing her ear. “Did you just try to tell me what to do?”

She shivers beneath his warm breath. “I…” She is suddenly full of apologies and excuses bubbling up out of nowhere.

Percy hums. “You what?” Slowly, agonizingly, he slides his hand down the length of her body, ending on her tight, just above her knee. He squeezes, featherlight, and she shivers.

“Um,” she says, watching his hand creep higher, his fingers dipping between her legs. “I…”

Then he stops. He stops, that big hand still wedged halfway to her vagina.

“Are--” she stutters, almost yelping as he kisses the sensitive spot beneath her jaw, teeth scraping over the skin. “Are you going to finish?”

“Dunno. Was thinking about it. But maybe I won’t. Maybe,” he chuckles, directly into her ear, his nose pressing against her cheek. His other arm comes around, slipping beneath her bicep, fingers finding her nipple like it’s a damn beacon, and he pinches it, smiling into her skin as she jumps, grunts, and flushes. She wants to touch him so badly, but the angle of her arms is so weird and she’s kind of on top of him, and she can’t reach his cock or his hair or--“Maybe I’ll just get you worked up, and then I’ll go to sleep.”

What--but--he can’t--“I--you--”

“Say you’re sorry,” he teases, pressing his cheek to her head, “and maybe I’ll reconsider.”

Sorry for what?! She almost snaps. Percy’s hand between her legs plays just at the edge of her sensitive spots, teasing with soft touches, driving her crazy. “I’m--I’m sorry, Percy,” she pants, squirming. Maybe if she shimmies down, his hand will move up--

But he won’t be moved. “Sorry for what?”

“For--” he digs a nail into her thigh, a sharp, sweet bite of sensation, like a campfire ember accidentally landing on your skin, bright and pulsing. Fuck, what is she apologizing for? “For hurting you earlier.”

Shaking his head, he chuckles again, moving his hand further away. No! “Close,” he mumbles, “but no cigar--”

Oh! “For telling you what to do!” she blurts. “I’m sorry for telling you what to do!”

He bites her earlobe. His fingers slide up to her pussy, stroking her labia as they open up to him. “There we go.”

And as he jerks her off, bringing her to the finish with the kind of efficiency and skill that only comes after ten thousand hours, he kisses her, wet and hot, mouth insistent, taking her lip between his teeth, and he mumbles: “Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”

She breaks, crying into his mouth. 

After a while, he slides his fingers out, giving her one final pass on her clit, and she shudders, whining. “Sorry,” he mumbles, warm. “You good?”

Her tongue heavy in her mouth, all she can do is nod, panting. 

But when he slides his other arm out, making to untie her--”Don’t,” she mumbles, pulling back. 

He starts. “Don’t?”

“Don’t.” Turning into him, she snuggles against him as deeply as she could, her bound hands only making it a little bit awkward, though they do come to rest on his stomach, about the perfect distance for her to reach down and take care of him. “Your turn?”

But he just shakes his head, slinging a leg over hers. “Still a little sore,” he admits, not quite meeting her gaze.

She drops her head onto his chest, relishing in the warm, steady heartbeat beneath her ear. “Sorry.”

“You can make it up to me later,” he says, taking her hands in his, thumb tracing along the edge of the rope. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

#my fic #percabeth #pjo fic #darkmagyk #PLS HEED THE RATING OK

[matth1w]

Dancing for Daddy

Pairing: Roman Sionis/Black Mask x Female Reader

Summary: ((Porn with plot 🤷🏻‍♀️)) Roman likes what he sees when he catches you letting loose and dancing on the table.

Warnings: SMUT, Alcohol, language, Dom/Sum, Daddy, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), choking, squirting, glove kink (bc of COURSE), and uhhhh eyeliner kink??

Rating: MATURE/18+

Word Count: 2,352 words

Note: I have been absolutely astounded by y’all’s response with the announcement!! I hope you enjoy!! // Does NOT contain Birds of Prey spoilers!

Roman Tag List (Open):  @stardancerluv / @redspaceace / @darling-i-read-it / @tales-from-gotham / @vintagemichelle91 / @ladyofhellhounds / @aliasimagines / @justauthoring / @daphne-fandom-writing / @themanthemyth-thelegend / @ewanfuckingmcgregor / @taylorzunigaa / @troybcker / @ntlmundy / @21stcenturywitchcraft / @theblackmaskclub / @jokersdoll​ / @ryjo1992​ / @highly-unknown​ / @nighttime2am​

“Boss,” Zsasz mutters in Roman’s ear.

Roman follows Zsasz’s gaze, instantly landing on your form as you smile seductively at him from your place on the table across the club’s floor.

And it looks like he’s not the only one watching. You’ve attracted the attention of nearly everyone sober enough to notice. Your hips swaying hypnotically to the music, a low, steady bass filling the room that matches the dangerous mix of attraction, admiration, and anticipation as you, the Hostess, put on a show.

“Want me to get her down?” Zsasz asks as Roman  takes a slow drink from his bourbon, eyes never leaving yours.

He chuckles as he stands and buttons his jacket, taking a moment to look away.

“No. I’ll get her down myself.”

— — —

You open your eyes as you turn your head from its place nuzzled in your raised arms, a smile blossoming on your lips as you see Roman stalking toward you.

The butterflies were instant. You know the look in his eyes wasn’t passionate rage, although it may have looked like it to everyone else with the way the crowd parted.

You know it to be what it is.

Deep,

dark,

uncontrollable

desire.

You bite your lip, adrenaline coursing as you wink at Roman before twirling around and moving slightly more slowly, bringing your hands to your body to roam. The song’s beat slowed, matching the movement of your hips.

Roman finally comes to a stop, shoes clicking loudly in the now almost silent room - the music having been lowered to a murmur.

“Darling?” he calls to you, voice light but strained with the effort to contain his desires. You knew he wouldn’t last long so you turned around.

Your eyes light up as they met his. He steps up to you and places his hands together before pulling one of his gloves off.

A shiver runs through you.

He holds it in his hand for a moment before throwing it onto the table below you.

He holds your eyes as he takes his final step to you. Instantly running his bare hand up your leg, stopping just above your knee.

“Everyone out”. He orders with a low voice, still holding your eyes.

He squeezes your leg and you had to stop yourself from squeezing them together. Your entire body so sensitive with the promise of what was to come in only a matter of seconds.

Seeing no one moving he breaks the stare, turns, and yells.

“Everyone fucking OUT!”

Everyone jumps, knowing this was their last chance.

Satisfied once the room cleared within seconds, Roman turns back to you, his eyes alight with now unhidden fire.

He is ready to eat you alive.

He keeps his hand on your leg, trailing it slowly down as he walks around the round table to the booth.

“C’mere kitten,” he practically growls. Lust dripping from his words.

Your breath hitches in your throat, your slight intoxication making everything more vibrant, more powerful.

He leans closer as you lean down, placing your hand in his as you step onto the booth, legs on either side of him.

Roman had the perfect view and couldn’t help but groan at the sight.

“Fuck, kitten. You look delicious.”

Your body tenses and you smile, wanting nothing more at that moment.

He chuckles at your reaction. “Do you want that?”

You nod quickly and bite your lip once more, containing a whine from escaping.

He teases his hand up your leg, moving slowly and keeping the pressure light.

“Use your words, babydoll.”

“Y-yes” you breathe out almost instantly.

“Come down then”. Roman smirks and you can’t contain the deep whine this time as you lower yourself to your knees on the seat of the booth. The leather groaning slightly under your body.

He looks up at you before giving you his still-gloved hand. You take the tip of the index finger into your mouth and bite down lightly, letting him pull his hand out.

He matches the movement, teeth meeting teeth with a click. His gaze follows the dropping glove next to him, his eyes holding on the glove one moment, allowing you to stroke the side of his face as he licks a stripe up your thigh in response.

Roman turns his head up at you as your hand reaches his chin and he leans in back, resting on the back of the booth. A hungry look in his black-lined eyes. All but physically drooling.

“Tell me you want me,” He commands with a whisper as he runs his hands up both your legs. Igniting every inch under his touch.

His eyes are so intense, overflowing with passion and desire - you want to look away.

Instead you run your fingers through your lover’s hair and pull the threads, making him close his eyes with a deep groan within his chest.

“Oh, babygirl.” He growls and finishes with a dark laugh.

Springing his head back up, he breathes you in before lifting your dress and diving into your covered core.

He groans once his lips touch the velvet.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, darlin,”

He pulls back and smirks up at you. You let out the breath you had taken upon feeling his hot tongue against you and bite your lip.

“All for you, Mr. Sionis”

He growls at that.

“Oh you are all mine, Mrs. Sionis.”

He peels back your underwear to the side before giving you one last look with a wink as he buries his face between your legs.

Your hands fly to his hair, your only stabilizer as you writhe against him. Soon your shaky breaths and loud moans fill the room as he begins sucking, licking, and pleasuring every intimate inch of you.

You want to savor the moment but you know Roman’s lost control. He want to bring you to the edge as fast and as hard as possible.

His tongue laps up at you as you grind your body into his face, loving the extra tingle the slight stubble on his face brings.

He peeks up at you and winks as he meets your eyes and you want to laugh but all that comes out is a gasp as he’s flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue.

You tense as you feel Roman’s fingertips flirt with your lips, your body beginning to quake as you know what he wants.

You squeeze the locks of hair you have tangled in your fingers and whine.

“Please, Roman,”

He hums a pleased laugh against you, the vibrations sending shivers through your core.

You won’t last much longer.

He pulls away to watch you as he brings two fingers to the center, teasing

Once,

Twice,

Three

times before diving in and instantly curling.

You throw your head back in a long groan but then quickly struggle to take a breath as he brings his mouth back to you.

His tongue is moving in perfect synchrony with his fingers, in and out at a fast, steady pace.

You feel it building.

He takes your clit into his mouth once more, responding to your clenching walls.

“Ro-Ro” you gasp, unable to say anything more between your hurried breaths.

Roman doesn’t even ask as he hurries his movements just enough to take all breath from your lungs and start your orgasm.

With one second of calm you take a breath, he pushes into you again, his mouth harsh and rough and

Oh GOD

“So good”

Your mantra begins as your legs shake,

“So good”

“So good”

“So...”

The wave slams into you and you pull his head in, smothering him as you let go.

He takes every drop and your senses flow back as he slows his movements and removes his fingers from you.

You open your eyes and look down as Roman takes his covered fingers into his mouth.

Groaning as he sucks, and stares into your eyes.

Satisfied, he smacks lips and runs thumb across his lips.

“You want more, kitten?”

You nod, somehow already getting excited again by the thought of him filling you up.

He drags his wet hand from his mouth and the other from its place on your thigh to his crotch.

Roman palms himself and your mouth waters.

You want to taste everything he has to offer you.

He unfastens his belt, button and zipper, and slides his pants and underwear just enough to free himself.

His cock is hard and pulsing with desire.

He meets your eyes as you finally look away from the object of your desire and he smiles widely.

“Come sit down for Daddy.”

Your eyes roll back with a shiver.

You lower yourself to his lap as you guide yourself slowly onto him, hand resting on his pelvis once you’re fully seated.

You bring your hands to his face and stare into his blue eyes for a moment - allowing you both to simply bask in the feeling of your bodies conjoined.

You grind as you pull his face to yours, catching his open mouth in a dirty kiss. A groan passes from one to the other and Roman squeezes your hips as he pulls away and nuzzles his head into your neck.  

“Kitten...”

He’s warning you. If you can’t handle it you‘ll have to say it now.

But you don’t. You want him hard and rough and dirty and fast.

You dig your nails into his shoulders and he takes the cue.

Instantly he’s slamming up into you, pounding your body so hard you’re shaking like a rag doll and wildly screaming.

He angles his hips up and moves your hips in circles, dragging your clit around his body, the feeling electrifying you with every movement.

It’s all so much. So euphoric.

You know you won’t last long.

Roman goes back to jackhammering you. Causing the screams in your throat to stick and eyes to squeeze shut and roll back.

“Who’s your daddy, babygirl?”, he asks as he slows but instead mercilessly pushes as deep as he can go.

His hand glides up your throat, a gentle reminder of his possession.

“Y-you”, you gasp.

“Cmon I want to hear you scream it.” He roars.

“Who’s. Your. Daddy?”

He thrusts harder and rougher, emphasizing each word.

“Oh god, Oh Fu- You, Roman”

He’s driving into you, spurred on by your breathless words, hands now gripping your hips hard as he holds you above him, angling you perfectly so he continually hits your deepest point.

“Oh fuck, YES! Oh god, I’m all yours, Roman. All...”

He drives into you and you’re breathless. So close to the edge, only a hair away from tumbling over.

“Oh fuckfuckfuck Ro- I-“ you curl your toes and grab his hair once more, tugging wildly in feverish urgency.

He looks up at you with a wicked grin, lips still shining from your previous climax.

“You going to cum all over Daddy’s cock, Princess?”

“Oh yes! Oh PLEASE, Daddy. Please let me cum”, you sob. The ecstasy of being on the edge swallowing every feeling except him.

“You want it babygirl?” He’s breathless.

“Yes!” You cry.

“Yeah?” He’s teasing you as he lifts your body up and down. Fucking into you like a toy.

“I don’t think you do.” He growls, pushing his face to your chest to bite at your breasts through the dress.

You can’t take it.

“Yes, fuck PLEASE roman, please let me cum.”

“That’s a good girl.”

He muses, slowing again.

“Mmm. My good girl.”

He does two quick thrusts with the snap of his hips.

The hand around your throat squeezes, causing black to cloud the edges of ceiling as your throw your head back.

“But Daddy gets to cum first.”

A few more hard thrusts as your walls are clenching around him his body shaking as he continues to fuck as he cums deep inside you.

You both know what’s coming next. What he’s pulling out of you.

The pressure builds, you feel Roman groan and still before picking up a brutally fast pace. His cock slamming into yours as he buries himself in you, the sound of your bodies euphoric and pornographic as you ride his cum covered cock.

He moves his hands so one is rubbing your clit, the other on your back, tilting your body towards him.

The feelings are all too much. The pleasure overwhelming your body.

You mouth hangs open, unable to form any words.

He pushes his hand harder against your clit, rubbing so incredibly fast you can’t hold it any longer.

“Cmon. Squirt all over me, babygirl.”

The dam breaks instantly at his plea and you’re spasming over him and under his touch, his body holding you up and pulling gush after gush from you.

The high lasts - clouding your vision, the ringing in your ears, the absence of time of heaven on earth.

The shaking stops, his fingers still, and his kisses move to your body.

“Such a good girl” Roman whispers into your body between kisses as you remain mute and overwhelmed.

“Such a good girl for me.”

You eventually come down enough to run your hand through his hair. He looks up at you with complete adoration and you shiver with a laugh as he twitches inside you.

You hold his head in your hands and lean down for a kiss. Pushing your lips every so slightly rough with your lack of senses hindering your ability to finely control your movements.

You pull back, still breathless and giggle as you keep your foreheads pressed together.

“Fu-fu...”

You kiss him again. Pulling away with a drag of his lips following yours.

“Fuck.” You finally get out, blinking heavily, while you learn how to control your body once more.

“Yeah?” He pushes your hips forward, sending a groan that travels from his body to yours.

“Y-Yeah.” You laugh, as you kiss him just right this time.

Roman chuckles as he pulls away and looks at you. Eyes running over your face that just screams you were thoroughly fucked out.

“Don’t think I’m done with you, sugar.”

#roman sionis #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis fanfiction #roman sionis smut #roman sionis reader insert #black mask #black mask x reader #black mask fanfiction #black mask smut #black mask reader insert #birds of prey #birds of prey fanfiction #bop #bop fanfiction #Smut #tw: smut #tw: alcohol #tw: language #tw: dom/sub #tw: daddy #tw: daddy kink #tw: choking

[teenwolffanclub-me]

Season 1, Episode 11: Formality

Hey there beautiful reader! If you’re new here, this is a series I’m writing where each chapter is an episode from the first season of Teen Wolf. If you’ve been here before, hey! I missed you! Previous and future chapters are linked at the end of each part if you want to catch up.

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader (FINALLY!)

Warnings: angsty angst angst

Notes: Does anyone still like this series? The last part kinda flopped 🤨

Anyway, I’m back and super excited bc my babies are FINALLY official and they only had to almost die like three times to do it!

P.S. Lydia has terrible taste in men, Y/N still sucks at being a psychic, and the high school desperately needs more security

                                                  ————————

Have you ever had a day go so unbelievably sideways that you honestly can’t even comprehend how fucked up it is?

Yeah, welcome to my Friday.

“This is the worst! My life is literally over.”

I huffed in annoyance, my jaw dropping at the pure absurdity of that statement. “Scott, Peter tried kidnapping you this morning and you’re worried about a dance?”

He frowned from beside me, his shoulders sagging. Last night, Deaton tried making Stiles and I leave the clinic once he was all patched up, but we both refused. I still wasn’t completely convinced that he was alive until he woke up with a start this morning.

It didn’t take long for Peter to show up, demanding that we hand him over. Actually, I can’t really say we because the three of us hid in the back while Deaton somehow took care of it.

Derek was still hanging out in the Argent’s basement, probably being tortured by Kate but most likely dead by now. I tried talking to Allison when I got to school this morning, but she practically ran away from me when I brought it up. I had no idea how much she knew at this point, and it was freaking me out.

And, to top it all off, Scott was flunking so many classes that coach banned him from the dance tonight.

Clearly, that was the most pressing issue.

He was so desperate afterward that he asked Jackson to watch over Allison, since he is her date. He apparently refused because it’s Jackson, so Scott had been losing his mind with worry all day. He was convinced that Peter would be after her next, but I wasn’t so sure.

She wasn’t an obvious choice. I mean, her family is literally just a bunch of professional werewolf hunters. Adding her to his pack wouldn’t make much sense.

“I just—I can’t sit by and watch him try to kill everyone I love.” Scott forced a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh.

My steps faltered and I peered over at him, my eyebrows raised in surprise. “You love her?”

“Oh,” His eyes widened as he realized what he said. “Yeah. I do. Holy shit. I love her.”

I watched as his lips slowly pulled into a grin, relieved that he wasn’t freaking out for a moment. It’d been pretty obvious for awhile that they loved each other, and I was honestly shocked it had taken him this long to acknowledge it, but happy for him nonetheless.

“That’s it. I’m going tonight.” His face hardened with determination before he turned on his heel and walked away briskly.

“Okay. Bye to you too!” I chuckled, curious to see how he’d manage to sneak in.

I only made it a few steps before someone rammed into my side forcefully. A pair of hands gripped my arms to steady me as I nearly toppled over. My eyes narrowed as they landed on Stiles’ sheepish expression.

“Hey. Sorry.” He let me go quickly and scratched at the back of his head. “Where have you been?”

“Class..?” I drawled slowly, my eyes trailing over his twitchy frame slowly. He seemed more wired than normal, which was saying a lot. 

His chest was heaving as if he’d just run a mile—which I’d recently learned he was surprisingly incapable of—and his eyes were shining with barely contained anxiety.

“I just...uh—I have a, I’ve been trying to...will you go to formal with me?” He rushed the words out so quickly, it took me a second to process them.

I just stared at him, waiting a moment to see if he was going to follow that up with anything else. “You mean the one that’s tonight? Are you serious?”

His honey eyes widened, as if he wasn’t expecting that response. I mean, what else was I supposed to say? I’d been waiting for him to ask me for almost two weeks now, and he waits until the day of? Who does that?

“Uh,” He glanced away from me quickly, his cheeks turning pink under the fluorescent lights. “Not if you’re going to say no.”

I just rolled my eyes, ignoring the way my heart began fluttering at the thought of going with him. I took a step forward so that there were only a few inches separating us and leaned up to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“It’s a date.” I patted his chest before walking away, an amused smirk pulling at my lips at his stunned expression.

                                                      ————————

I let my fingers trail over the frilly materials hanging in front of me as I took in my options. I was failing miserably at finding something decent to wear tonight. I wasn’t used to dressing up or being overly girly, so I had no idea where to start. I’d really just been standing here for the last several minutes, overwhelmed by all the colors and textures.

Allison was standing to my left, inspecting a few dresses in a full length mirror. Lydia was long gone somewhere behind me with a mountain of cloth in her arms. I picked up a knee-length blue dress and decided it wouldn’t hurt to try it on.

I saw someone approaching Allison out of my corner of my eye and glanced her way fleetingly, but froze as my gaze locked with Peter’s. I looked around, not fully believing that he was here, before jerking my attention back to him. He gave me a slow, amused smirk before shifting his eyes toward her. My head whipped back to the dresses in front of me, my entire body going rigid as I tried not to alarm her.

Maybe Scott had been right this afternoon. But would he really try to turn her now? In the middle of the mall?

“That’s not your color.” I heard him murmur, and stole another look their way. I didn’t want Allison to catch on that I knew him, or that anything was wrong. Very, very wrong. 

Allison shifted her weight, looking uncomfortable as he stared at her intensely. “Sorry if that was intrusive but, considering your skin tone, I’d go lighter.”

“Because I’m pale?” She asked quietly, somehow not questioning the fashion advice from a strange man.

“Fair.” He corrected, his head tilting as he tried to look well-meaning. “I mean, you can’t call skin like yours pale. Not skin that perfect...”

“Okay.” She laughed awkwardly and put the dress she was considering back on the rack beside her.

“Trust me, I have a...unique perspective on the subject.” She nodded and turned to walk away with a tight smile, obviously weirded out, but he stepped to the side so she couldn’t get away. My skin crawled at the predatory gleam in his eyes as he practically sized her up.

She watched nervously as he grabbed a new dress from the rack behind him and took her hand in his. She reeled back instantly at the unwelcome touch, but that didn’t stop him from bringing her skin up beside the material for comparison. “See? Much better.”

I’d heard enough. I took the few steps needed to close the distance between us, my heart racing in my chest. I wasn’t convinced that he was stupid enough to try anything wolfy in public, but I wasn’t about to take any chances, either. I stopped at her side and grabbed her wrist gently. Her wide eyes jerked toward me, swimming with relief. 

“Hey, Lydia needs help in the dressing room.” I rushed the lie out quickly, barely registering that she nodded in understanding before pulling her away.

I didn’t even spare another glance at Peter as I weaved through the narrow isles briskly, not stopping until I found Lydia clear on the other end of the store. She actually was by the dressing rooms, posing to herself in a full length mirror. I staggered to a halt at the sight of the champagne dress she had on. It was somehow...familiar?

“That was so creepy.” Allison muttered quietly as she shook my hand off and plopped down onto one of the plush chairs beside the mirrors.

I walked right up to Lydia, unable to stop myself as I continued inspecting her dress. She watched me for a moment and raised her eyebrows expectantly when my gaze rose to meet hers. My face pinched in confusion. There was a persistent nagging at the back of my mind as I looked at her, like there was something I should be picking up on. But I just couldn’t place it.

“I think that’s the one.” I jumped as Allison suddenly spoke up from behind us. I cleared my throat and took a step away from Lydia, realizing how weird I was being.

She turned away from me with one last questioning glance before giving herself a satisfied smile in the mirror, her hands smoothing down the silky material before resting on her hips.

“Me too.” She spun around excitedly and disappeared behind one of the dressing room curtains.

I couldn’t explain it, but I suddenly felt my stomach twist as a dark cloud of dread washed over me.

                                                    ————————

I looked over Stiles’ shoulder, the hardwood floors beneath my feet vibrating as loud music rang throughout the space. We were slow dancing for the second time tonight, my arms locked around his neck and my head resting against his chest. It was really nice, being this close to him. It helped lower the base level of anxiety I’d been fighting all day.

It’d been nearly an hour since I last saw any of our friends. We all met up with our respective dates at the start of the dance, Lydia having brought a random lacrosse player since Jackson was with Allison. Just then, my eyes found them dancing stiffly a few couples away, but the sight did little to calm my nerves. 

He was completely wasted at this point, since he thought it was a good idea to bring a flask of vodka with him, and she was just trying to make the best of it until we all went home. It was clear that neither of them wanted to be here together, but Scott had pretty much threatened him into watching over her, and she didn’t want to be without a date.

Scott successfully snuck in through the roof—don’t ask me how—and was managing to keep an eye on them while dodging coach all night. My eyes swept over the room, seeing nothing but familiar faces, just not the one I was looking for. 

Stiles suddenly pulled back and my arms loosened from around his neck. His eyes rounded as they flickered around my face with concern. “You okay?” 

I glanced over his shoulder again, feeling uncomfortable under his intense gaze. I didn’t want to lie to him, but I also didn’t know how to explain the uneasy feeling I’d had since we got here. My dancing faltered as I noticed that Jackson and Allison were gone.

“Have you seen Lydia recently?” I asked absently, my eyes still sweeping around the gym quickly.

I took a step away from Stiles and turned all the way around, my chest tightening with anxiety. For some reason, I felt like I needed to find her. Right now. Or something terrible was going to happen. My anxiety was quickly rising to panic when I didn’t see her anywhere. 

“Y/N?” Stiles put a hand on my shoulder and I glanced back to see him watching me closely, his brows pinched in confusion.

“I have to...” My skin was crawling with the intense need to get out of here. Something was wrong. I could just feel it. I leaned forward to place a quick kiss on his cheek, already feeling guilty for what I was about to do. “I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.”

I started jogging away before he could try and stop me. My legs had a mind of their own as I stumbled through the dense crowd toward the exit. I braced my hands against the gym doors and pushed my way through, stopping for a moment as they fluttered closed behind me to consider where she could be. I huffed, feeling an urgency deep inside me that was only growing with each passing moment. 

I turned on my heel to keep moving, and slammed right into a hard chest. I reeled back, ready to brush past whoever it was, but stopped when I saw that it was Jackson. His chest was heaving, as if he’d been running, and his eyes were wide with fear. 

“Jackson?” I asked tentatively, the look he was giving me only increasing my unease.

He stammered silently for a few seconds, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly. His eyes fluttered as they glanced away from me apprehensively. He was acting like he’d just seen a ghost, or maybe something worse. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I pressed, taking a step toward him. 

He gulped and let out a shuddering sigh. “I-I was out behind the school and...and I was...”

“What? What did you do?” My voice hardened with frustration as I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously. He had definitely been up to something, if his guilt-ridden expression was any indication. I momentarily forgot what I was supposed to be doing as my curiosity peaked. 

“I-I told...Allison’s dad, he was...”

My heart skipped a beat with panic at his words. Mr. Argent was behind the school? Why would he...

Oh shit. 

Oh my God. 

Without even sparing him another glance, I rushed past him and straight down the hall. Within seconds I was outside, the freezing night air causing my skin to rise with goosebumps instantly. My head whipped from side to side as I tried to figure out which way to go. On instinct, I starting running toward the lacrosse field. 

My heart was hammering painfully in my chest as I sprinted as fast as humanly possible. I was suddenly very glad that I’d chosen to wear ballet flats tonight, instead of the heels Lydia had tried forcing me to buy. I let my intuition guide me as I kept going until I reached the edge of the field. 

I staggered to a stop, my eyes widening at the sight of Lydia standing at the other end. Her back was to me as she walked around slowly, looking lost. I opened my mouth to call her name, feeling my chest loosen just slightly at the fact that she was okay. 

I froze, my whole body growing rigid with fear as Peter suddenly emerged from the tree line just outside the field. His figure was mostly cloaked by the bright stadium lights as he approached her, and it didn’t seem like she’d seen him yet. 

“Lydia!” I screamed, finally finding my voice through the panic coursing through me. I started running in her direction again, having no plan but just needing to be there with her. 

She whipped around at the sound of her name, but made no move to get away. There was nothing I could do but watch in horror as Peter stalked toward her and opened his mouth wide, his eyes flashing bright red. She didn’t react nearly fast enough. 

By the time I reached them, she was laying in a crumpled heap on the turf, blood splattered across her dress. All the air rushed from my lungs as a heavy sense of déjà vu washed over me. 

Of course, how could I be so stupid? It was the vision I’d seen when Derek helped me, finally playing out in real life. 

I let out a trembling breath, my chest feeling like it would collapse any second from the intense pressure. My mind went blank as Peter kneeled over her body, blood dripping down his face. His eyes, still red, slowly swept up to meet mine. 

“Well, they don’t usually run toward me, but I’ll take it.” He muttered lowly, an amused smirk twitching at his lips.

My eyes were still locked onto Lydia’s unconscious frame beneath him. Her new dress was ripped, the red stain at her hip growing alarmingly fast. My heart clenched painfully and tumbled down into my stomach at the sight. 

I was too late.

Peter took his time standing to his full height. I could feel his intense gaze on me, watching me closely, but I couldn’t look away from Lydia. She was so...broken. A wave of nausea washed over me and I forced my eyes to meet his.

My vision blurred as I tried desperately to catch my breath. “Is she dead?”

My voice was barely above a hoarse whisper, my entire body trembling. It was from the overwhelming terror being this close to Peter initiated, but I wasn’t just scared. I was angry. I knew something was going to happen all day, and I ignored my instincts. I saw this very thing happen weeks ago, but did nothing. And now, Lydia might be dead. Because of me. 

Peter hummed low in his throat, his eyes scanning me from head to toe before glancing down at her fleetingly. “Not at the moment.”

A few tears escaped down my cheeks as I tore my gaze away from him to look at her again. I wasn’t even sure if she was breathing. If she was still alive, it was just barely.

My panic only rose as I thought about how unlikely it was that I’d get out of this situation in time to bring her to a hospital. Her chances of survival were dropping by the second. And mine too, probably. 

“Tell me, Y/N, what do you see in my future?” Peter look a slow step toward me, and I stumbled back to keep some distance between us. 

My eyes jerked up to his as I stiffened, a shiver wracking my body as I became more aware of the freezing temperature. “How do you know about that?”

The earth crunched beneath his shoes as he stalked toward me. I stood impossibly still, knowing I wouldn’t be able to escape him. He didn’t stop until he loomed only inches away.

“How does anyone know anything?” He murmured hoarsely into my ear, and I recoiled back, my stomach clenching painfully in disgust. My eyes pinched shut as one of his hands came up to brush a stray lock of hair away from my face. “You, my dear, would make a fantastic beta.”

My eyes jerked open again and I took a miniscule step away from him, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. “Trust me, I wouldn’t. I’ve been told I can be really annoying. I wouldn’t make a good beta. Or a good anything, really. I’m hardly a psychic. You should just keep searching because, you know, whatever it is you’re looking for...isn’t me.”

“Oh, I think I’m willing to take my chances.” Time seemed to slow as his eyes flashed bright red, his mouth opening wide to show his razor sharp canines. 

I whipped around, ready to at least attempt running for my life, but instantly froze at the sight of Stiles barreling toward us. 

“No!” I shouted frantically, my heart leaping into my throat with panic.

A strong arm wrapped around my stomach and wrenched me backward. I slammed against Peter’s chest, hard. The air was knocked out of my lungs from the force, just as a clawed hand snaked around my throat.

Stiles lurched to a stop in front of us, his dress shoes slipping on the damp turf. He flailed to the ground before popping back up instantly, his eyes wide with horror as they glanced down at Lydia before landing on me.

“Don’t kill her. Please.” His voice was trembling with desperation as he held a hand out toward us hesitantly.

The tips of Peter’s claws dug into my skin and I winced, tears now running freely down my face. I was terrified. For myself, Lydia, and now Stiles. Peter had killed many times before, and there was literally nothing stopping him now. Stiles’ eyes flickered to my neck, his jaw clenching tightly. 

“Of course not. Just tell me how to find Derek.” Peter drawled, as if he wasn’t currently poised to do the opposite. 

“W-what?” Stiles stammered, seemingly surprised by that request. His gaze was still firmly planted on Peter’s hand.

I felt a sharp stabbing at the base of my throat and my lips parted as a shuddering gasp escaped me. He was surely drawing blood at this point. Stiles’ eyes widened with alarm at the sight and his hand jerked toward us as if he were itching to intervene. 

“Tell me how to find Derek Hale.” Peter leaned down, his warm breath fanning my shoulder. I tried jerking my head away, my heart lurching in my chest at his close proximity, but didn’t get far with his tight hold around me. 

“I don’t know that! How would I know that?” Stiles’ voice rose to a frantic shout, his chest heaving as his glistening eyes finally moved up to Peter. 

“You’re the clever one, aren’t you? And because deception has a very particularly accurate scent, Stiles. Tell me the truth. Or I will rip her apart.”

As if to prove the validity behind his words, his hand tightened around my throat. I instantly started pulling at his fingers as I felt my airway closing. My lips parted in a silent gasp, my lungs spasming painfully as I tried to force a breath in. 

“Look. I don’t know! Okay?” Stiles rushed the words out in a complete panic, his eyes darting between Peter and my neck. Tiny black spots dotted my vision as I felt myself growing faint. “I swear—I swear to God I have no idea!”

Peter hummed low in his throat, his chest vibrating against my back. “Wrong again.” 

Everything that happened next must’ve taken place in only a few seconds, but they seemed to drag on and on. Peter’s head jerked down to my left shoulder, his teeth digging into my skin easily. A scream tore through my throat as he finally released it, my vision blurring as unbearable pain rippled along my upper body. 

Stiles face crumbled in utter horror and he lunged toward me just as Peter’s arms disappeared. I tried gasping for breath as I sagged to the ground, but my body just wasn’t cooperating. It felt like Stiles caught me, but I couldn’t be sure as I lost all feeling in my limbs.

Then, everything went black. 

                                                    ————————

I stirred, already wincing in pain as I slowly regained consciousness. A high pitched droning was the only sound in my otherwise quiet surroundings. My eyes fluttered open and instantly squinted against the harsh fluorescent lights above me.

Everything felt heavy. I sluggishly started turning my head away from the lights, but jerked to a stop as searing pain radiated from my shoulder. My face fell into a grimace as a pitiful groan escaped my lips.

Something shuffled at the foot of my bed and I froze. My heart jumped in my chest with panic. Memories of Peter came flooding back all at once, and I started trembling with fear at the unknown presence.

Stiles jerked upright, appearing at my side a split second later. I let out a small sigh of relief, wincing as my lungs angrily protested each breath I took. My body began relaxing as I realized I was safe. 

“Oh my God! Y/N!” He practically yelled in my face as he leaned down over me. “Are you okay? Wait, that’s a stupid question. How are you feeling? Does it hurt?” 

One of his hands disappeared beneath the thin mesh blanket covering my body and he pulled out a hallow cord with a small switch in the middle. “If it hurts you can push this button as much as you want and I won’t tell. You’ll be higher than a kite, but—”

“Stiles.” My voice was barely above a hoarse whisper as I interrupted his frantic rambling. “I feel okay. Just tired.”

Truthfully, I hadn’t been awake long enough to know how I felt. I’d gathered that I was in the hospital, but obviously didn’t know much else. My entire left side hurt like hell.

My eyes trailed over Stiles quickly, noting that he was still wearing his clothes from the dance. His white button up was stained with blood and dirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His black jacket had been discarded on a table by the door.

Maybe it hadn’t been long, then?

“Seriously?” He sagged down into the chair that sat beside my bed, his eyes widening in surprise. “You were asleep for almost thirty hours.”

“I was what?” I planted my hands on either side of my hips and pushed myself up, ignoring the pain that ripped through my shoulder at the movement. 

How the hell had I been out that long? That meant it was already Sunday, although probably somewhere around midnight. Too many panicked thoughts invaded my mind at once to make sense out of any one of them. 

Stiles bolted back to his feet and pushed me against the bed with a disapproving glare. “It was actually twenty eight hours, forty seven minutes, and sixteen seconds, if that makes you feel better.”

“You know what, somehow it does.” I huffed sarcastically with a roll of my eyes, wiggling around on the hard mattress in an effort to get comfortable again. 

Stiles twitched his eyes at me while he sat back down apprehensively, as if not trusting me to stay put. He brought a hand up to rub at the back of his neck as he glanced down to my injured shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Y/N...”

“For what?” My brows furrowed in confusion. I really had no idea why he would be apologizing. There was definitely a list of people that should feel bad right now, but he wasn’t one of them. 

“I should’ve listened. If I’d just told him what he wanted...” He let out a heavy sigh and rested his elbows onto his knees before dropping his head into his hands. 

I reached out and took one of his hands in mine, rubbing my fingers across his skin soothingly as he looked up at me cautiously. He had no reason to blame himself. Peter had already proven time and time again that he’s literally insane, and I’d made the stupid decision to run toward him mid-attack. I had a feeling he would’ve bitten me either way, regardless of anything Stiles did. 

“It’s not your fault.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes glistening with a slew of intense emotions. 

I didn’t even have time to start deciphering them before he sat forward in his chair, his face hardening with determination. “I should’ve brought this up before I had to watch you almost die, but...you’re not—you know, how you are with me...with any other guys, right?”

His voice was timid as he struggled to stutter out the words. My heart swelled in my chest as my lips pulled up into a small smile. That was the most adorable, perfect, Stiles way of phrasing that question. For a moment, I forgot about all my worries.

“Stilinski, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” 

His eyes twitched as he squeezed his fingers around mine minutely. “Only if you’re gonna say yes.”

I didn’t even have to think about it for a second. 

“Of course I’m saying yes, you dork.” I let out a breathy giggle as a big grin took over his face. 

His caramel eyes shined with happiness as he brought my hand against his mouth to place a gentle kiss on my fingers. It was about damn time we had that conversation. I honestly shouldn’t be surprised that it took us this long to make things official, considering how stubborn we both are. Regardless, it felt amazing to finally be able to call him my boyfriend. 

My boyfriend, Stiles. It had a nice ring to it. 

I only let myself relish the moment for a few more seconds before finally asking about the one thing I’d been dreading thinking about since waking up.

“How’s Lydia? Is she...?” I trailed off, not able to say the word out loud. 

When I’d seen her last, she was only moments away from death. I was sure of it. If I’d been here this long from a bite to the shoulder, I couldn’t imagine the damage that had been done to her. My heart clenched with regret as I thought back to all the moments I could’ve done something differently that would’ve saved her. 

Stiles winced beside me, hesitating for a long moment before answering in a quiet mumble. “She’s uh...missing.”

“Excuse me?” I instantly tried bolting upright at his words, my anxiety skyrocketing. Missing? How could she be missing?

He guided me back down gently with a hand on my uninjured shoulder, his eyes narrowing again in warning. “Yeah. She just kinda disappeared from her room this morning.”

It was like he could sense that I was about to try getting up again, as he peered down at me sternly and pressed his hand down more firmly. “My dad already has the entire department out searching. There’s nothing you can do.”

My mind was racing with anxious, jumbled thoughts. She could’ve been taken if no one was sitting by her bedside like Stiles had clearly done for me. Or, she could’ve run away. But why would she do that? She was in the hospital. Where she was safe and getting treatment. I guess, there was always a chance that she’d taken to the bite and shifted already...

I didn’t know what any of this meant for me. I could only assume at this point that I wasn’t a werewolf. I mean, my shoulder clearly hadn’t miraculously healed yet. I figured, if I were, it would’ve done so by now. I was just incredibly glad—and lucky—to be alive. 

My eyes met Stiles’ as he leaned back in his chair and inspected me closely. He kept glancing toward the place where Peter had bitten me as he drummed his fingers against his lips. It was like he couldn’t tear his gaze away. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I breathed, suddenly nervous. His anxious expression couldn’t mean anything good.  

“There’s something I keep—something Derek said awhile ago that I can’t get out of my head.” He mumbled, his eyebrows furrowing in apprehension. 

I looked at him expectantly, urging him to continue. He was seriously starting to freak me out.

“The bite—he said it either kills you...and I think we’re good on that one...”

I glowered at his poorly timed sarcasm as his eyes continued flickering between my own and my shoulder. He swallowed thickly, and I could practically see his heart racing as he let out a ragged sigh. He finally caught my gaze, twitching uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Or it changes you.”

Well, shit.

Episode 10                 Episode 12

#stiles stilinski #stiles #stiles x y/n #scott mccall #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fic #teen wolf series #allison argent #stiles x reader #teen wolf rewrite #teen wolf season one #derek hale #peter hale #dylan obrien imagine #dylan obrien x reader #stiles stilinski angst #stiles angst #stiles x original character #stiles x oc #teen wolf angst #kate argent #lydia martin #jackson whittemore

[peaceisadirtyword]

Don’t Play With Fire VI (Modern!Ivar/Reader)

A/N: HELLO🥺💜 I’m so happy and so excited to post something again! After months with a huge block, not being able to write more than 1000 words, I managed to finish something. It’s not perfect, but I'm quite happy with the result! And I really hope you like it too, and you forgive me for being such an horrible writer these months. I hope I can keep writing like this now🥰 I hope I can post something more this week, but I can’t promise you anything because I'm working, finishing my final project for uni and I have to study bc I have a Danish test next week, but I’m going to try!

I really hope you enjoy this, it was much longer, but I decided to crop it a bit because it was too long! And I hope you like this part enough to read the next part as soon as I can post it! Thank you and please enjoy💞

Warnings: violence, an abusive relationship, mentions of sex, mentions of death and Ivar might be a bit out of character! 

Words: 3967 (told you it was too long)

DPWF Masterlist

gif belongs to @justacripple 

A dog barking on the street startled you, and you nearly dropped your phone out of the window. You frowned and took a deep breath before turning around and entering your living room, letting yourself fall down on your couch, groaning. 

A soft meowing and small paws pressing against your head made you open your eyes. 

"What?" you glared at the intense green eyes fixed on you "Don't look at me like that, I really want to tell him, but he's not answering his phone" 

You looked at your phone again, biting your lip. You had sent like six messages to Erik, asking him to call you or come home. You hadn't heard of him in two days, since you arrived from Stockholm... And even if you wanted to be worried, you were more angry than anything. 

You had made your decision. After spending a whole night sleeping beside Ivar, with his arms around you and feeling safer and more relaxed than ever you decided to end everything. It was over for you. 

You weren't going to keep risking your own life for Erik, when he obviously didn't care about it. You were tired of his shit, and of dealing with things you shouldn't be dealing with and that affected you on many levels. And, at the same time, you were terrified of breaking up with him; even if you were ready to let Erik go, you were worried about him and what could happen to him. 

But you were being selfish for once and put yourself before everything. 

As usual, Erik didn't answer his phone, but appeared a couple of hours later without a warning. As always, drunk and hungry, barely looking at you as he opened your fridge and started taking your food, the food you had bought with the little money you had left from work and that was meant to be enough for two weeks until you got paid again. 

You just got back from Sweden, risking your life for him and he didn't even look at you. 

With tears of rage burning in your eyes, you stood just in front of him. He looked annoyed, but he frowned in confusion when he saw you glaring at him.

"I called you" 

"I know baby" he rubbed his eyes, leaving the food on the kitchen counter "I was busy"

"You were busy in your friend's house getting wasted" you scoffed "And I needed to talk to you" 

"You can talk now" he shrugged.

"Yes" you took the piece of bread from his hand "I'm going to talk"

Erik clenched his jaw. 

"What? Did something happen in Stockholm?"

Yes, you thought, a lot of things happened. 

"Erik, I'm done" 

"You're done with what?"

"With everything, with this stupid mission you gave to me, with you, with all this shit, Erik, I don't want to keep risking my own life so you can get your revenge, you care more about your revenge than about me, and I'm done with it" 

He looked confused. You saw him getting angry, but it was like he had a learned role, and immediately his face changed and he tried to look like a puppy, like he was sad. 

"Baby... What do you mean?"

"Don't call me baby" you rolled your eyes "Look, Erik, I care about you, but I'm not risking everything for someone who I know wouldn't risk a thing for me" you shook your head. 

"Don't do this to me" he muttered, and you felt like punching him when he let a couple of false tears roll down his cheeks. It was the same performance as always, trying to make you feel guilty and sad "I need you, I love you"

"No you don't" you looked away from him. For the first time, you didn't even feel bad for him "I'm tired, it's over" 

Immediately, his sadness turned into anger. You pressed your lips together as he glared at you. 

"You can't break up with me" 

"Well, I'm doing it right now, so I think I can" you shrugged, trying not to feel intimidated by the way he clenched his fists. 

"You're nothing without me" he spat, making you flinch softly "No one will ever love you, you're useless" 

You sighed, feeling too exhausted to go through this again. 

"Please, Erik, leave" you said softly, not really wanting to fight or anger him. You said what you had to say and it was over for you. 

He was trembling in rage, panting and looking around. For a moment, you thought he'd hit you, but instead he stood up and took your phone from the kitchen counter, slamming it on the floor before you could react. He continued walking around the living room and slamming everything he could take as you moved away from him. You were relieved to remember you had locked your cat on your bedroom, fearing something like this would happen. 

"Did you fuck him?" he raised his voice at you and you flinched again "Did you fuck him during your little holidays in Sweden?" He approached you and you pressed your back to the kitchen counter, grabbing the knife you had left on the sink after dinner to wash later. He wouldn't hit you, you were almost sure of that, but if he did, you'd defend yourself. 

"No" you answered, glaring at him "I wasn't on holidays, I was risking everything for you, and you didn't even care about how I was" 

"You're a whore" he growled, and you held yourself from rolling your eyes "I knew you would betray me, I knew I couldn't trust you" 

"Erik, please, leave" you muttered "Seriously"

"This is not over" he muttered, getting so close to you that you turned your head. He reeked of alcohol, and it made you nauseous "You'll hear from me again, you fucking bitch" 

And then he left. As quickly as he had entered, he left the house, leaving the door open and muttering different insults and threats that you couldn't hear. 

Immediately, you took your keys from your purse and locked the door leaving the keys on so no one could open it from outside. You took your phone from the floor, relieved to see it only had the screen broken, you were really thankful to that employee at the store that convinced you to buy a tempered glass and that big phone case. 

You weren't sure of how much time you spent in there, standing between the kitchen and the living room, not really sure of what you were feeling in that moment. Your eyes scanned the room, the tv was okay, Erik didn't have the strength in that moment to throw it to the floor, but some other things, like the beautiful crystal vase you had on the table, full of beautiful flowers that Mrs. Larsen, your neighbor, had brought for you when she went to her holiday cottage in Jutland, just before you went to Sweden. 

And then you heard it; a small meowing and a scratch on the wooden door that lead to your bedroom, and your eyes widened. 

Smaug seemed mad at you when you opened the door, hissing a bit when you kneeled on the floor to take him in your arms, hugging him tightly. He meowed again in protest, but you ignored him. 

"Are you okay? Did the noise scare you?" You pouted, tears already burning in your eyes. 

He licked your cheek softly, and you let out the first sob. 

____________________________

You woke up with your phone vibrating on the bed next to you. You needed a couple of seconds to realize you were in your bed, still wearing the same clothes you did the day before before taking the phone. 

"Hello?" You muttered, rubbing your eyes. 

"Y/N, were you sleeping?"

Ivar's voice woke you up completely. You widened your eyes and looked around, remembering everything that happened the night before and that made you cry until you fell asleep. 

"Yeah" you muttered, rubbing your face. Your voice was hoarse and weak, and the silence at the other side of the phone made you understand Ivar knew something had happened. 

You could nearly see him frowning and pressing his lips together. 

"It's lunchtime" 

"Really?" You looked at the clock next to your bed, biting your lip when you realized he was right "Well, I went to sleep really late, so I'm not surprised"

His sigh sounded like he wanted to ask you what happened, but at the same time he knew you wouldn't tell him. 

"Anyway, I called because I wanted to ask you something" 

"Okay, tell me" you shrugged. You realized that the only source of information about Aethelwulf you had was Erik, and he wouldn't tell you anything, of course. But telling Ivar the truth was even more frightening.

"I was wondering... If you'd like to come to my apartment to have dinner tonight" 

He spoke so fast that you barely understood him, but then you raised an eyebrow, smiling unconsciously as your fingers played with the edge of the blanket. 

"For what?" You asked, with your heart beating faster. 

"To... Have dinner" his confused tone made you laugh softly. 

"I mean, you know I don't have any information for you" you giggled "So, unless you want me to do something else I..."

"No, I just want to have dinner with you" Ivar sounded like he had his teeth pressed together, and you allowed yourself to imagine him blushing. 

"Oh, okay" you nodded, your smile getting bigger "That would be nice" 

"Yeah" he cleared his throat. 

"Should I bring something?" 

"No, it's okay, I already bought everything" 

"Why? You didn't know if I'd say yes" 

"If you said no, I'd invite Hvitserk" 

You bit your lip again to hold back a laugh, and you'd swear Ivar chuckled on the phone. 

"Well, then... See you at five?" 

"Half past five" you frowned, looking at your reflect on the mirror in front of your bed and realizing you'd need some time to look like a normal person. 

"Okay, half past five" he agreed, surprising you "I'll send a car to pick you up" 

"I can take the bus..."

"No" he scoffed "I'm not letting you go all alone, you're important" 

The both of you stood in silence, listening to each other's breathing until you parted your lips again. 

"Important for what?" You asked softly "For your business or for... you?" 

Ivar didn't answer. You kind of imagined he wouldn't, but it was still disappointing when he spoke again. 

"The car will pick you up at quarter past five" he said "Be ready"

"I will" you muttered "Bye" 

He hang up without a word, and you stayed there, looking at your phone for a few minutes before laying down on your bed again. As soon as you stopped talking to him, the pressure on your chest came back, as did the tears. You wished you could go back to Stockholm, to snuggle into Ivar's chest again and to sleep peacefully for hours. You remembered how warm he felt, how safe you were with him, and then felt like the worst person in the world. You had lied to both Erik and Ivar; you were still lying to Ivar, and wouldn't tell him not because you were scared of him, but because you knew he wouldn't ever forgive you. 

Taking a deep breath, you stood up, making Smaug hiss in annoyance, and walked into the bathroom, ready to have a nice and relaxing shower. 

__________________________________

Suddenly, any of the clothes you had were nice enough. You hated how you looked even with the new clothes you bought a few weeks ago, when the sales started. Smaug looked amused as you frowned in annoyance when you realized your favorite skirt was now too short. Had always been that short? 

You looked at the big mess of clothes that was your bed. You still had the Dior dress Ivar had gifted you, which was probably more expensive than the rest of your clothes all together, but it was too much, right? Besides, you had already worn it to go dinner with him. 

After deciding you didn't like how your ass looked in a skirt, you started trying on the jeans. Half an hour later, you were already dressed with skinny jeans and a white blouse with some cleavage -you were happy to see that blouse still made your chest look even better. 

You didn't put too much make up on, and left your hair loose. You put your favorite converse on before taking your purse with some money, your keys and your phone before taking Smaug into your arms, ignoring his protests and trying to keep him away from your clothes. 

You didn't want to leave your cat all alone in your apartment just after breaking up with Erik, afraid he'd try to hurt you by hurting Smaug, so you had called your lovely neighbor, Mrs. Larsen, and asked her if she could take care of him for one night. She agreed, and you felt much better leaving him safe with her.

After promising her you'd enjoy yourself and stop worrying about your cat, you left the building biting your lip nervously. 

The thought that Ivar might have discovered you had crossed your mind more than once that day, but for some reason you didn't think that was the reason for his invitation. In fact, you felt like it was a date. 

The car stopped in front of you. You blushed when the driver got out and opened the door for you so you could enter. Muttering a weak 'thank you', you sat down and licked your lips while looking around. It wasn't the same as when you went with Ivar; you felt awkward and, even if no one could see you through the tinted windows, you covered your face until the car stopped next to a huge building in the center of Copenhagen. 

You tried to pretend not to look too amazed by the luxury around you. It was hard to imagine Ivar, the dark and mysterious Ivar, living in that place. 

"Take the elevator to the attic" the driver opened the door for you "Mr. Lothbrok will be waiting for you in there" 

You nodded, smiling at him as you walked to the door. Suddenly, you regretted your election of clothes and realized you should have worn the Dior dress. 

Ivar was leaning on his crutch next to his door. You nearly forgot how beautiful he was, and you had to bit your lip again to hold back a smile. His lips were a bit curved, and his eyes didn't leave you until you arrived next to him. 

"Hi" 

"Hello" he nodded with a soft voice, so different from that Ivar you had met in the club "You look pretty" 

Was he blushing?

"Thanks" you allowed yourself to look at him; he wore a t-shirt and some jeans, really different from the suits he had worn in Stockholm "You look nice too" 

Ivar smiled, but hid it by looking away, moving to leave you enter the apartment... Well, to call that 'an apartment' would be a lie. It was bigger than probably all of the apartments on your building together, and had a huge window from which you could see the entire city. 

"Wow" you muttered, walking around the living room. You forgot your shyness and let yourself wander around, trying to imagine Ivar living there. Would he fall asleep in that huge couch while watching TV after midnight? How would he look having breakfast sitting on the kitchen counter, with sleepy eyes and yawning? The thought of him doing his normal life in that apartment made you smile softly as a warm feeling spread through your chest. 

Ivar closed the door. You turned to look at him, the smile still present on your lips. 

"I don't know how I imagined your house" you confessed "But it definitely wasn't like this" 

Ivar raised an eyebrow as he approached you leaning on his crutch. 

"How did you imagine it?" 

"Darker" you shrugged "Smaller... Full of smoke and with weapons" you giggled.

"Maybe you don't know me that well, then" 

Was he flirting? You had never realized when people flirted with you, and this time wasn't different. 

Blushing, you kept looking around, your eyes widened when you saw the mess on the kitchen. 

"Did you cook?" you forgot your embarrassment and approached the kitchen. Did Ivar the Boneless cook?

"Yes" he cleared his throat "Hvitserk helped me" 

You tried really hard to imagine the two brothers cooking together, and the thought made you smile. 

"Really?"

"Yeah, he's actually a good cook, my mother taught him" 

"So this is how the dangerous Lothbrok family spends their free days... Cooking... Lasagna?" your eyes lightened up when you saw one of your favorite foods in the oven. 

Ivar nodded slowly. 

"It's your favorite, isn't it?" 

"Yeah but... How do you know that?" 

"You mentioned it in Stockholm, while talking to Hvitserk" he blushed, but this time you didn't realize, as he pretended to be busy fiddling with one of the kitchen rags he had left on the counter "I heard you.. As you won't tell me anything about you, I have to eavesdrop" 

You bit your lip to hold back another smile and your eyes went to the wooden table in the living room, set with candles. Something told you Ivar hadn't been the one setting it. 

__________________________________

"You look tired" Ivar didn't stop looking at you as you tasted the first bite of the lasagna. You licked your lips and controlled yourself to avoid moaning at the taste of food. You had barely eaten that day.

"Yeah, I've had trouble to sleep these past days" 

"Can't sleep without me anymore?" He muttered, and you hid your face behind the glass of wine to hide your blush. 

"The lasagna is really good" you cleared your throat "Tell Hvitserk he's a really good cook" 

Ivar frowned and glared at you. 

"I did most of it" he scoffed "Hvitserk ate the ingredients" 

"Okay, then congratulations, Ivar, you're a good cook" 

Ivar smiled, looking down as he played with the food on his plate. 

"Thank you" 

After a couple minutes eating in silence, you raised your head and bit your lip. 

"Why did you invite me?" 

His eyes found yours and you felt thirsty again. 

"I... Wanted to see you" he shrugged "Outside of that club or without forcing you to go to a foreign country with me" 

"But why?" You insisted "You said you didn't have any other job for me or..."

"No, I just wanted to see you... Talk to you... Stop asking questions, woman" he rolled his eyes, making you smile "I'm the one who wants to ask questions" 

Your smile faded slowly. Even if he hadn't said anything, you were still terrified of him knowing the truth about Erik and your role in his revenge. You wanted to be the one telling him, but... How? 

"You're mysterious" he tilted his head "I'm not going to tell you you're different from other girls and all that bullshit, but I find you intriguing, I know everything about you, but I feel like I don't know you" his cheeks reddened as he spoke "And I want to change that" 

"So Ivar the Boneless went from wanting to kill me to inviting me to have dinner at his apartment, I'm flattered"

He smiled again, you didn't remember Ivar smiling so much. 

"I must admit you surprised me, going to meet me with that attitude... So brave" he winked at you "To be honest, I was sure you were lying to me"

You sighed, taking another sip from your glass of wine. Would this be the moment? 

"But you didn't" he smiled gently "And, believe it or not, you've showed more loyalty than people that I've been trusting for years... For me, loyalty is the most important thing" 

"Did anyone ever betray you?" you asked.

"A lot of people" he chuckled "More than I can count... My own half brother, for example" 

"Björn?" 

"Yeah, but he wasn't the worst. I kind of imagined we'd end up like this, we're just too different" he shrugged "But a woman betrayed me once" 

"A woman? Your girlfriend?" you forgot your food and abandoned your fork on the plate.

"My wife" he corrected you. Your eyes widened, Erik never mentioned him being married "I loved her with my whole heart, Y/N, she..." He sighed "She was my first love, but... She betrayed me, she went behind my back and lied to my face"

"Why?"

He raised an eyebrow. 

"Apparently someone who wanted me dead thought that would be a good way of fucking me up so I would be vulnerable and weak..."

"What happened to her?" 

"She died" you'd swear he had tears on his eyes "He killed her when she was useless to him... And when she was pregnant with my child" 

Your lips parted and you gasped in a mix between surprise and horror. 

"How..."

"A car accident" Ivar shook his head "I discovered everything when she was already dead... And I killed that bastard with my own hands" 

You didn't really know what to say. 

"I didn't know... I'm sorry" you moved your hand so caress his softly. He looked surprised by that, but his expression softened and stood in silence. 

It must have been awful... You scanned his beautiful face, and realized he had trusted you with something very private, something no one knew, and he told you... Suddenly, you felt like throwing up, feeling like the worst person in the world. 

"I already told you my big secret" he chuckled then "You can tell me yours now" 

You bit your lip, shaking your head. 

"I'm afraid we'd need more alcohol for that" you giggled nervously. 

Ivar stared at you intensely, but sighed and nodded slowly, taking his crutch to stand up again. 

"I'm not hungry anymore, do you want to see the rest of the apartment?" 

You nodded, standing up and following him through the living room. He opened one door, turning to look at you. 

"If you liked the window of the living room, you'll love this one" he winked at you before entering the room. 

The last thing you expected that night was to end up inside Ivar's bedroom. You stepped in with an eyebrow raised, and smiled in excitement when you saw the big window from which you could see the entire city. The bed was situated just in front of it, which was like your dream. 

"It must be amazing to wake up to that view" you muttered, approaching the window "I barely have sunlight in my bedroom" you sighed. 

"I bet you'd love to wake up in here, wouldn't you?" Ivar teased, and you blushed again, even if this time you were facing away from him. You weren't sure if he meant something else, but decided not to ask.

"It's even better than the suite of Stockholm" you admitted, ignoring his comment. Ivar chuckled and you heard him approaching you. When he spoke again, he did it closer to you, and your heart started beating faster and faster. 

"I think we could make it even better" 

His hand found your waist, and you stopped breathing, holding yourself back from leaning into him. You turned around slowly, and did what you had been dying to do since you did it for the last time. 

Ivar kissed you back, letting his hand grab your neck and sighing into the kiss. 

"How?" you asked softly, feeling braver than ever. 

"Spend the night" he replied, his lips still brushing yours "With me" 

___________________________________________

Tags: @mblaqgi @alicedopey @lol-haha-joke @hallowed-heathen @naaladareia @tephi101 @captstefanbrandt @love-hate-love @titty-teetee @readsalot73 @moondustmemories @thevikingsheaux @chimera4plums @therealcalicali @blushingskywalker @awkwardfangirl02 @gruffle1 @poisonous00 @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @kalonthecat @nataliehasgrace @atlas-of-the-world @justrepostandlove @persephones-deadgirlwalking @justacripple @love-dria​ @heartbeats-wildly​ @sw-eat-ing​ @letsrunawaytotomorrow​ @inforapound​ @sallydelys​ @hellogabysblog​ @winchesterwife27​ @chinduda​ @tofadavidson​ @hecohansen31​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @xinyourdreamsx​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​ @tgrrose​​ @eteramfools​ @flokidottirsstuff​ @lovessce​ @tootie-fruity​ @didiintheblog​ @alexhandersenx​ @belovedcherry​ @fantasydevil2002​ @laubluered​

#ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #modern ivar #vikings #vikings imagine #modern vikings #dpwf

[babyboy-cody]

axel and his angel going to a haunted house is a cute thought. he goes into it thinking he's gonna be protecting her and he ends up being the one clutching her arm the entire time bc he's freaking out lollll

OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS SO MUCH 😂😂😂 this is gonna be so much fun to write!!!!!!!! 👻

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

“I bet you this shit’s gonna be so lame,” Axel comments as he leans against the metal railing that organizes the long line waiting to go inside of House of Terror. “Like something from a shitty horror movie.”

“It’s gonna be fun,” you whined and rest your chin on his chest to look up at him with a little pout. “The reviews were really good. People were still scared even days after they went through the whole thing!”

“Oh really?” Axel rolled his eyes. “That’s a bit dramatic. It was probably fuckin’ 12 year olds.”

“It’ll be fun,” you repeated and stepped forward as the line began to move forward. You were practically vibrating with excitement as you overhead other people in line saying how scary the haunted was. The two hour drive to Pennsylvania was definitely worth it. You haven’t been to a haunted house since you were a teenager, so doing this with Axel was going to be a date to remember. “We’re almost next!”

“How’s it going, man?” Axel told the guy who instructs people what to do and what not to do before entering. “So, how scary is this place?”

“Uh, from personal experiences, on a scale of one to ten, it’s definitely a ten. We’ve had people cry, piss their pants, pass out, some even threw up. It’s pretty gnarly in there,” the man said with a gruff laugh.

“I told you,” you elbowed Axel’s side gently as he rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around your shoulder to keep you close into his side.

“Alright, you guys are up next,” the man tells you. “A few rules before you go in. You’re gonna follow the yellow arrows on the walls, okay? Don’t touch any of the decorations. We don’t want you yanking them or anything. Please, don’t touch the actors. If you get scared and accidentally pop them in the face, that’s fine, it’s happened many times before. If at any time you it gets too intense and you would like to leave, just scream out the safe word: mercy. Have fun,” he gives you both a smirk and opens the creaky wooden door for you to go up the stairs before he slams it shut.

Axel’s arm doesn’t leave your shoulder as you both slowly walk down the hall that was turned into a hospital. There’s muffled screams in the rooms and fake blood that looked like a body was dragged into one of them. You hold onto Axel’s arm and look around. One of the doors is suddenly yanked open before a disfigured looking man in a doctor’s coat runs out and starts screaming in both your faces. You screech and turn into Axel’s chest as he backs up and presses himself into a wall.

“Woah, woah woah!” He yells and grabs you as you hurry past the screaming man. There’s smoke around you as you go into another hall that had red flashing lights and fake dead bodies hanging and swaying. The room you’re in looks like the kitchen from the original The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It looks dirty and has fake severed limbs in the sink and on the table. All of a sudden, you hear the revving of a chainsaw before a large man runs out with a chainsaw and starts chasing you and Axel.

“Run, run!!” Axel screams and holds your body in front of him as if shielding himself. “Holy fuck!” You can feel his hands shaking as you laugh and slowly walk forward to the end of the hall, the man dressed as Leatherface no longer chasing you. “Oh shit..”

The next room was one that filled Axel with dread and fear, and you can feel it when his whole body stiffened. The entire room was covered in colorful stripes and polka dots which gave you one idea; clowns. His biggest fear was clowns, which is funny because Axel is a six foot four man covered in tattoos that has the straight face of someone who oozes “don’t fuck with me” vibes. You held onto his hand as you both slowly went inside.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he tells you, his voice filled with fear and hesitation.

“I got you, baby,” you told him. “Stand behind me, and if it gets too much, bury your face in my neck and follow me, okay?” He nods and stands behind you with his hands on your shoulders. The minute he hears maniacal laughter, he immediately pressed his chest against your back to feel your comfort. You can practically feel his entire body trembling when the laughter gets closer. Suddenly, a grotesque looking clown emerges from the shadows holding a fake spike covered bat. Axel shouts and immediately cowers behind when the clown runs up and slams the bat on the wall right next to you. You squeal and grab Axel’s arm tight.

“Look at me!” The clowns screams. “Run, run, run, little piggies!” He laughs and gets in Axel’s face.

Axel screams at you to start running and you do without hesitation as the clown does that creepy laugh that you know will haunt your boyfriend. When you round the corner, you realize that you have to go down a few steps to go down another short hallway. Axel was breathing heavy and nearly whimpers when he hears loud banging and screams coming from behind you. “We’re almost done, baby,” you assure him and make sure his hands stayed on your hips as you lead him. You both sighed with relief when you see the large exit sign. As you pushed the door open, you heard the familiar clown laughter just a few feet behind you. That causes Axel to act quickly and push you out of the exit door before he slams it shut.

“Jesus fuck,” he wheezes and slouches forward to rest his hands on his knees as you rub his back. “Never again are we going to do any of that shit.”

#HE’S SO CUTE 😭😭😂 #axel x reader #the clown scene was part of a personal experience i had at a haunted house #it still haunts me 😭😂

[lannister-slings-and-arrows]

So i dont know if i've asked this before or if i'm just imagining stuff(fucking adhd) but if you still do the pedro headcanons, how do you think each of his characters would act on their wedding day/getting married?

You have not asked me this one before! Hmm. Ok, let’s think about this.

@pascalispretty and I have, of course, talked about this in excruciating detail lol. We think that Maxwell honestly wants everything to be as normal and as chill as humanly possible- he wants to go before a judge with a couple of witnesses and just do it, no fuss, no nothing.

Oberyn is calm, of course he is. He’s faced oncoming armies, charging battalions of horse, fuck, he’s fought the gods damned Mountain, this is a piece of cake. He’s excited though, happier than his brother has seen him in a while, excepting the births of his children. And the smile that stretches over his face when he sees Ellaria lead you to the sept is blinding; the sun that hovers over the deserts of Dorne pales in comparison.

Ezra is nervous. And that makes you nervous. Ezra is supposed to be the one that always has his head screwed on straight in this partnership, the one who gets you both out of scrapes and into good jobs with a few turns of phrase. He’s still talking- of course he is- but not a lot of it makes sense and he doesn’t finish most of his sentences. Well, if he isn’t going to be calm and in charge today, you guess that it’s your turn.

Tovar still isn’t totally sure how this happened. He’d never considered the possibility of marriage, and to be frank he still isn’t completely on board with the idea. But it seems to make you happy, and if your lives were going to go on in much the same fashion as before, what right did he really have to complain? It was a piece of paper, he supposes that he could tolerate the ceremony and the standing and the sitting and the, fuck no, that stupid ass was not spraying him in the face with water again, no that is where he drew the line.

In Din’s eyes the two of you have been married for months now, ever since he taught you that phrase in Mano’a. That one that it seemed so important to him that you repeat back perfectly. He never told you what the words meant exactly, just that it was a commitment ceremony of sorts, so while you watched him go about his business as if you weren’t getting ready to be married in a few hours, you latched on to that scene from a few month ago to try and soothe your nerves. You turn to Paz who was cleaning a blaster next to you and ask him what the words meant. He chokes. “You mean he didn’t tell you?” You shrug. “Not exactly, no.” Paz sets the gun down and repeats the phrase in their language with reverence. He then translates for you: “We are one whether we are together or apart, we share everything, we will raise our children as warriors.” And you understand now why this day wasn’t nearly as never wracking for Din. 

Max micro manages everything. Which honestly is cool with you because he’s good at making sure tiny details are taken care of promptly and accurately. It keeps him occupied and gives you one less thing to worry about. You have enough on your plate already, wondering if (because, technically speaking, Max was dead?????) this is entirely legal. Also maybe you should make an effort at not thinking of him as dead again, that’s kind of weird. You start to worry and meet his eyes across the the living room of your apartment. He grins at you, the same smile that you are sure helped many a sorority girl out of her panties back in college, and you are smiling back before you realize it. You kind of hate it when he uses his Manager Powers on you but you suppose you may need it this time so you’re willing to forgive him.

Dave is already married. Bigamy is both not cool and illegal.

Marcus is excited! He’s been waiting for this day since he asked you, planning everything, and leaving you with very little to do. He does ask every once in a while for your input but inevitably gets a little carried away and continues on his own. It’s hard to get mad at someone who so obviously can’t wait for this day. He’s practically vibrating that entire morning- you’ve seen junkies with less energy than this.

Javier is a little sullen. Bc he is incapable of dealing with his emotions and feelings like a big boy and instead of explaining that he is scared he might fuck up (again), he lashes out. Goooood thing you’re used to this and can just roll your eyes, pat his arm, and ignore it.

Catfish is Stressed and Nervous. He’s getting married, for fucks sake, of COURSE he is. And no, picturing everyone naked will not help, Ironhead, but thanks for being a dickhead as usual. Oh my god I forgot to get a sitter for the baby, what if- oh, right, thanks Pope, yeah I see her she’s right there and she’s fine and- wait, what if she isn’t though, should I just go check on her or, WHAT DO YOU MEAN I NEED TO CALM DOWN?!

Whiskey is cool as a cucumber. He’s a spy. He deals with much more stressful things than this- at least this doesn’t have the same kind of potential for bodily harm as most large gatherings he attends do. Plus. You’re wearing his hat as your something borrowed. And with that kind of distraction who has the brain capacity to think or worry about anything else.

#pedro pascal #hcs #imagines #maxwell lord #oberyn martell #ezra #tovar #din djarin #max phillips #catfish #frankie morales #francisco morales #javier peña #agent whiskey #jack daniels #writing #dave york #marcus pike #agent marcus pike

[ddaenggtan]

forever rain | knj | m

Being dead isn't anything exciting. Just a lot of walking the same halls of the same apartment day after day after day. Things change when the new tennant arrives, though. Kim Namjoon isn't anything you could have expected; not the way he's so careful and gentle with his plants because he breaks so many other things, not the way his friends joke that he's psychic because you refuse to let him get in the face one time, and certainly not the way he comes home after literal months spent moving things away from table edges for him and announces that he knows he's being haunted and he has some questions for you. You didn't know ghosts could fall in love, but he makes you feel alive again, like you're standing in the rain while thunder crashes around you. You should've known nothing good would come of falling in love with someone living, though. You should've known that heartbreak was the only way this could end...that the rain doesn't last forever. 

part of the Love Yourself Collab, please please please go check out the other fics. Everyone involved is so freaking talented and I have been vibrating out of my skin with how excited I’ve been to read all of these. 

pairing | kim namjoon x reader (unspecified gender, even!)

word count | 18.8k | cross posted to ao3

genre/warnings | ghost!reader, slight fluff, hard angst, literally the most angst ever it gets fluffy for a bit but litERALLY this is an angst fic, major character death, unprotected sex (idk what the etiquette for ghost sex is but you should still wrap it before you tap it fam), depictions of terminal illness (v mild), mentions of blood (several, but not graphic), major character death, allusions to violence, namjoon is a klutz whats new, depictions of terminal illness, major character death, i added that tag three times pls dont read this if you aren’t comf with mcd bc i literally tagged it three times so y’all would definitely see it, also probably have some tissues ready bc i cried while writing it so 

a/n | this is, to date, the saddest thing i have ever written in my entire fucking life. formal apologies to this joon bc oh my god you poor soul. i’m not kidding when i say you might cry, because i’m a big baby wuss and cried while writing the fucking outline when i first decided to write this for the collab so like......rip my own heart. i was really honored when i was approached about the LYA collab, bc like,,,,,mE? WHAT? and i was really nervous because i’ve never been part of any collabs in any fandom ever, and to have to do something like forever rain and mono as a whole justice, like,,,,,,, *screaming* y’know?? so i went on mono lockdown and just had the whole thing on repeat and was like “alright. what emotions does this make me feel.” and i eventually settled on the loneliness and isolation that he expresses, and feeling like no one understands what you’re going through, but that ultimately the album as a whole and forever rain give off this feeling of like. things get better, you’re not as alone as you feel, and you just gotta get through the bad stuff to find the good stuff. basically i just got really in my feels about it and was like ‘lets make myself cry ahahaha’ and,,,i dID i cried several times while planning and writing and editing bc im a Soft Bitch and don’t read much angst for that exact reason lmao. so buckle tf up y’all, this a helluva ride!! 

Of all the things you'd heard about death, all the different possibilities that existed in the world, the one thing you hadn't been prepared for was the boredom. You hadn't been prepared for any of it, really, too surprised by your own demise to plan at all, but even if you'd been able to, you don't think that this is what you would've counted on. An eternity - or however long ghosts existed - of being stuck in the same studio apartment you'd lived in when you died. The same walls, the same floor, the same view out the only window of the alley beside the building. It's boring and lonely and boring.

You've found more creative ways to entertain yourself as time passes. First, you started by figuring out just what being a ghost meant. You can't really communicate with anyone, haven't figured out how to make sure everything you say is heard, but you can manipulate objects pretty easily these days. The most difficult thing is becoming fully corporeal - completely visible and able to interact with things at the same time. It's hard enough to be visible, and you aren't really sure what the point of it would be when it would just scare whoever's living in your apartment; that's the last thing you want to do, run them off when they're the best source of amusement you've found.

You won't lie, you were a little offended when the first tenants moved in after you. It was difficult to watch your things get packed up and moved out by your friends, hard to lose all of the little things you loved in your apartment, like the shitty bead curtain you'd gotten as a gag gift or the photo collage of all of your loved ones. It's frustrating to not know how they're all doing these days; the one time you got brave enough to fuck with a laptop to check on them, you nearly broke the thing, and you haven't tried since. Still, it seemed cathartic for them to clear out your apartment, and it was a bittersweet sight, but you tried to focus on the positive side of it.

And then the couple moved in.

Not only did they fuck like rabbits - which is something you're going to stay pissed about, because there's no satisfaction to be had by you anymore, and it's the one thing you can think of that would be endlessly entertaining - but the couple was also grossly obnoxious. They had zero respect for your apartment , or you, and while one could argue that they didn't actually know you were there, it still made the sting of losing your entire life that much worse. You spent you don't know how many nights hovering awkwardly in the bathroom while they fucked, would constantly wander in to see them going at it on the kitchen counter at ass o'clock in the morning, and once you came in to see them tossing actual literal eggs at the ceiling like the absolute fucking weirdos they were.

So, naturally, you got a little mad. How dare they treat your apartment like that? They had no respect, but they were going to learn it real quick if they were going to live there with you, whether they wanted to or not.

They didn't last long after the first night of slamming cabinets and squealing hinges, but the thrown picture frame of their family was the conclusive end to their stay.

There have been others, since then. They haven't all been terrible, not like that first couple, but most of them have been sub-par roommates, and if you decided early on that if the rest of your immortal life is going to be locked in one shitty apartment with the absolute worst view in the city - because no one wants to see the drunken hookups and potential body dumps that take place in that alley - then you're at least going to share said apartment with someone nice to exist with.

You release a heavy sigh, staring at where your hand disappears through the shower wall. You've taken to testing the boundaries of the apartment again; you already know what the result will be, learned in the first few hours that you're stuck here, but you can't help trying when you get really bored. You just got distracted fucking around with the pipes in the meantime, because you're literally too bored to even focus. It's part of why you miss the last tenants so much, because you weren't ever really bored with them around.

A single mother and her two kids, crammed into a much-too-small apartment because it was all they could afford, and they were the light of your un-life. One a budding teenager that wrote angsty poetry who loved your trick of making things float around, and one an adorable toddler who adored playing peekaboo with you and coloring, and a mom that was too busy to notice anything out of the ordinary. It was like having a family again, made you feel useful when you could pull the meat out of the freezer for her to make dinner with or scratch a quick 'do your homework' on a steamy bathroom mirror. It was fun and it made being dead that much more bearable.

You really should've known that letting the toddler draw the two of you would be a bad idea, especially since there were several artistic liberties taken. It's not your fault the kid thought you'd look cool with fangs and bloody holes instead of eyes and claws that reached the floor. It was art, it was supposed to be a little different from reality. Still, you can't blame her for seeing the picture of her kid and 'my new best friend' and immediately calling the landlord. And a priest.

So, perhaps you gave the apartment a bit of a reputation. Maybe it's been a couple of months since the mom moved out and took your two buds with her. There might be the possibility that you've been the slightest bit salty about losing your friends and you've been extra-ghost-y whenever someone comes by to view the place in an attempt to make yourself feel a little better. Can you really be blamed for that? You just want a decent damn roommate for your life after death, and if that means putting the potentials through a little bit of a test, then so be it. You only feel a little bit bad for the landlord.

The creak of the front door pulls you from your thoughts, and the echo of a voice makes you narrow your eyes. Your first instinct is to slam some windows to scare off whoever's in your apartment, but you repress the urge. You'd die of boredom if you could die again, and whoever this is could provide a few hours' entertainment at the least.

You pop your head through the bathroom wall to see what's going on, and wow , who let an actual giant into your apartment? Fucking with the pipes could definitely wait for this guy.

"I know it's last minute, yeah," He says into the phone that's held carefully between his cheek and shoulder. His arms are loaded down with boxes and he's angled away from you just enough that you can't see his face, but he's tall and broad and wearing what looks like the world's comfiest sweater, and you want to badly to wrap yourself up in him. "But you know Joon needs the help. Don't pretend you aren't constantly willing to put off your thesis, I know for a fact that you went out to look at stationery with Tae last week, and everyone knows that's the most boring thing on the planet."

He's quiet, listening to the soft crackle of a voice from the other end. You slide through the wall completely, hovering as close as you dare to try and hear what the other person is saying. Tall, Broad, and Comfy scoffs.

"He can stare at one sheet of paper for at least ten minutes, Yoongi. Do I need to remind you of the time he spent an entire fucking hour debating which set of holiday scrapbook to buy because, and I quote, 'this one has the really nice rose pattern on it that would look great with the invitations, but, oh, look at the pinstripes in this one!'" His voice morphs into what you guess is an approximation of whoever Tae is, and you laugh at the high-pitched, nasally tone.

Tall and Broad spins, eyes narrowing as he looks around the room, and fuck , he's literally gorgeous. You've never seen someone more attractive in your life or your death and it would probably knock the wind out of you if you actually had breath. Comfy McGorgeous turns back around and sets the stack of boxes in the corner, continuing his tirade about Tae and stationery while simultaneously trying to talk Yoongi into coming, you assume, to help Joon move. You don't know who any of these people are, but they're already proving to be the most entertaining bunch that's ever graced these walls.

The door to your apartment flies open, making both you and Boyfriend Material whip your head around.

"Christ, Jin, you couldn't hold the fucking door open for us?" Someone grunts. Beauty Von Softness - or, Jin, as you should probably refer to him - winces and strides over to do just that as two more guys stagger in with a couch suspended between them. The second they're in the door they drop it to the ground and flop onto it, panting and sweaty.

"Listen, I was busy trying to get our resident hermit out of his cave to help us carry some of this shit," Jin spits back. "And you all know what it's like getting him out and about."

"Did you tell him that there's pizza after we're done? Because I've found that food is the best motivator for him," the guy closest to the door says. His hair is soft-looking and long and you wish you could pet it.

The other guy, the one who cursed Jin out and has the softest pink hair you've ever seen, laughs. "Jeongguk, you always think the best motivator is food."

"Well, yeah, because it is."

"For you, maybe. Other people require actual rewards."

"But food is a reward," Jeongguk mutters into the fabric of the couch. Jin tsks and smacks As Yet Unnamed on the back of the head.

"You're lucky I hung up on him when you bombarded your way into this place, or he'd definitely not come help us," Jin says as he leans against the back of the couch.

Unnamed starts to say something else but is cut off by someone running straight into the end of the couch. They all shoot to their feet, spouting apologies as the three of them maneuver the couch into the apartment properly.

"Sorry, sorry, Jimin distracted us from properly finishing our job," Jeongguk says quickly. He looks to the stranger with a small apologetic smile, and you're pretty sure if it were humanly possible, there would be actual literal stars in his eyes.

"Oh, it's okay, Jeonggukkie. I should've been looking where I was going." New Challenger walks straight towards where you stand, and you realize seconds before it's too late that he is not aware there is a massive stack of boxes in his path. Instinctively, you shove them to the side with your foot. Tall And Oblivious sets his boxes down without any trouble, none the wiser about any of it, and the three near the couch are too busy bickering in hushed whispers to have noticed you doing anything.

The newcomer straightens and turns to look at them all with a bright smile, and you think you might actually see The Light in the way his cheeks dimple. If you thought the other three were beautiful - which they are, no doubt about that, you're seriously wondering why the hell a bunch of supermodels are moving stuff into your apartment - then this guy is easily an Actual Fucking God or something. His brown hair is soft and shiny, his smile is warmer than the sun, and you're fairly positive that for the first time since you died, you feel goosebumps along your arms.

"Seriously, Namjoon, we should've realized you'd be up soon. You stay, start unpacking while we go get the rest of the furniture." Jimin shoves Jeongguk out the door while he's speaking, ignoring the taller's complaints, and Jin just shakes his head at the sight.

"Yoongi'll be here soon, he's finishing up another draft of his thesis. Hobi and Tae are stopping to get the pizzas and then they'll be here, too." Jin's voice is calmer than it was Jimin and Jeongguk, more soothing, and it makes you curious. Not only because of the tone change, but because you know Hobi, he owns the building and is the one who rented you the apartment when you first moved in. One of your favorite things to do is scare him when he comes by to make sure everything’s ready for a viewing.

"What? No, I said I was gonna pay for pizzas!" Namjoon looks distinctly more upset about this than someone should over not having to pay for pizza, at least in your mind, and it only makes you more curious.

"Yeah, but you also just moved out of your old apartment because it was too expensive, and had like an hour to load everything into a truck, so you're gonna let their trust fund asses pay for pizzas. We're seven adult men, and Guk could eat an entire horse and still be hungry. I'm not letting you pay for that."

Silence hangs in the apartment for a while before Namjoon gives a soft thanks to Jin. They share a smile before Jin makes his way back out. You follow each step, shadowing him all the way to the door before you're stopped. You lean your entire body forward, struggling against the invisible barrier keeping you inside, and the force of it nearly slams you back into the wall when you sag in defeat.

You aren't sure why you try anymore, but you know yourself well enough to admit that you're not going to stop until you can at least make it to the hallway.

Whatever you expected Namjoon to be like as a roommate, however unknowing he is about the situation, you don't think you could've guessed what he's actually like.

Out of the seven boys you saw the day he moved in, he's the only one living there. Not a complete surprise, considering it's a studio apartment, but you remember when there were nine people living there at one point, and there was barely room for anyone to breathe even if it had been pretty consistently amusing. Still, for one person, he's got a ton of stuff, and it's a shock it all fits. His bed is massive and comfortable and the best place to lay during the day because it's shoved between the brick half-wall and the large windows that take up one wall. The area's supposed to be for a dining table, you think, but you'd had your bed there, too, and the familiarity is nice.

His couch is small and old but manages to fit five of them, and it's a pleasantly jarring difference from the coffee table that looks like - and might actually be - an old steamer trunk. The exposed brick wall you love holds his mounted TV, a feat that took Jeongguk and Yoongi a solid hour and a half because they kept stripping the screws, and it's got one of those 8-cubicle bookshelf things under it that stores a frankly obnoxious amount of books.

He's got mugs for days, an adorable if odd collection of figurines and mini-statues scattered around the apartment, a strange obsession with some reclaimed wood shelf he's got hanging above his bed, but the absolute highlight of it all is The Wall.

It took them three hours to get it installed and set up the way he wanted, between the placements and the thick wooden shelf they’re perched on with supports and a small safety bar along the edge to keep them from falling off, but along the entire windowed wall and partway after it turns the corner runs a long shelf absolutely covered in plants. There are some elsewhere, like the one he keeps hanging from the bathroom ceiling and the couple in the kitchen, but most are on The Wall. Each one is in its own special pot, each a unique color with a name painted carefully along it, and most of them look half-dead. They're all distinct and unique from each other and they all surely have different needs and ideal conditions, but you'd never guess because Namjoon is so wholly committed to them all. He takes time every day to water them and prune them if he needs to, he checks on them constantly. He even reinforced the safety bar for the ones that sit beside his bed, so there was less chance he'd accidentally knock them around while sleeping.

It's fascinating, watching him tend to them. He's so careful and gentle, with absolute precision in every moment. He cares for his plants the way some people would care for a pet or a child. He doesn’t believe any of them are past caring for, slowly nurses all of them back to health and frequently turns up with more he’s saved from some department store. The most endearing thing, though, you decide as you sit curled among the haphazard blankets of his bed and watch, is the talking. It's every day, for as long as it takes him to care for the plants, and it's the cutest thing in the world. He's talking to some succulent as you just stare at him, filling the comfortable silence of the apartment with his soft, soothing voice, and you wish he could hear you when you talk back to him.

"I know they mean well, but at some point, I've just gotta live my own life, y'know? I can't study something just because everyone expects me to, and I can't pursue some dream just because people think I'd be good at it. I've gotta do what's right for me, don't I?" His tone is positive and bright, a contrast to the gloomy sky that casts shadows across the apartment.

You float over, hovering beside him to look at the plant he's lovingly stroking with his thumb. It's in a pretty periwinkle pot, with the name 'Mang' painted in careful but shaky black handwriting. It's not your favorite - that's the one in the bathroom that hangs over its light blue bowl, a quickly scrawled 'Koya' on the bottom - but it seems to be one of Namjoon's personal favorites based on how often he talks to it specifically.

"I think it's nice you do things for yourself," You tell him. He doesn't react, unable to hear you, but it's nice to hear your own voice after so long. You slide one of the plants - Chim, in a small yellow bowl - to the side and away from his elbow, and he doesn't notice. "You know yourself better than they do. You should trust yourself."

He keeps mumbling to Mang, something about everyone following their own dreams and doing what they need over what people want or expect, when you lay your hand over his.

Thunder cracks through the sky and the first raindrops hits the window as your non-existent skin hits his, and it's the most real thing you've felt in a long time. It's as if the scent of ozone and electricity is in the apartment itself, crackling in your hair and filling your nose with the overpowering scent of the sweet summer rain. You can almost feel the water hit your skin, the way the wind whips at your hair, and it's so intoxicating that you almost miss the sharp inhale from the man beside you.

He's not looking at his plant when you look up, but instead at the window in front of the two of you. You glance at it, and for a fraction of a second, you can see yourself in the reflection. The glimpse has you jerking towards it before you can stop yourself, desperate to know if something has changed. You haven't seen your reflection since you died, not in the mirror or the window or the toaster, and maybe, just maybe, it means something's changed.

Your hand stops against the glass of the window as you reach forward. You can't feel the cool of it under your palm, but it's no less a barrier for you as it would be for Namjoon. Something in you breaks as you watch the raindrops race each other to the ground.

"Ah, I forgot the forecast called for rain today," he mutters, eyes focused on the lightning that streaks by. He doesn't react when your fist slams against the glass, nor when you let out the scream that's been building in you for however long it's been since you died. You're so close, not even a hair's breadth from feeling something new yet familiar for the first time in so long, and you can't. You're still stuck in these four walls, unable to even reach the air outside.

You just want to feel the rain again.

You move dejectedly away from the window, ignoring the way Namjoon shivers as you pass. The temperature in the apartment has dropped considerably, you think, between the storm and your own mood. You can't tell, really. You haven't felt warm or cold or hungry or anything since you died that isn't the oppressive loneliness of life after death.

A dry sob tears itself from your throat and you hurry to hide in the bathroom as Namjoon turns to look around him. He mumbles something you can't hear and after a few minutes, he returns to tending to his plants, leaving you to your tear-less cries in peace.

It becomes quickly apparent to you that Namjoon should really have a roommate, if only to save him from himself. It takes a few weeks for you to realize this, but luckily he seems to narrate his life as he goes through it - which is overwhelmingly adorable to you, and you refuse to acknowledge that - and that means that you hear it every time he goes, "Ah, Namjoon, be more careful next time," or "Oh, shoot, that's not, fuck, I gotta buy more eggs now." It's painful to watch, even for you, and at some point, you just couldn't take it anymore. No one else is around to help, but someone needs to you, and clearly the universe means for you to be that someone.

It's a full-time job, protecting him from himself. You've saved countless mugs, pushing them farther away from the edges of counters and tables, and been just in time to shove bowls or vases an inch over so that his elbows glide harmlessly past them. It's almost exhausting, if you could get tired you would, but it's worth it, you think, as you catch the bookshelf under the TV as it tilts. You slide it gently to the floor, glad that Namjoon is distracted by how close he came to losing a toe to notice.

Because that's the other thing about this tree of a man: he's the most oblivious person you've ever fucking seen. It doesn't matter what it is you do, whether it's bouncing his spray bottle of water so it doesn't break on the hard floor or shake the counters so that the knife he's about to drop on his fucking hand falls the other way, he doesn't see a single fucking thing. You'd think he was blind if he wasn't so attentive to the way his plants grow. He notices nothing and you're glad for it because you really aren't sure what he would do if he knew you were going around haunting him just to keep him alive. You just want to help, want to keep the soft smile he wears more often around for as long as possible.

You don't dare to look into why you want that, too afraid of what you might find there.

It's also just fun to watch him and his friends, relaxed and unreserved. You never had many friends when you were alive, just a small handful that you really truly loved and whom you miss every day. Watching these seven boys fills you with nostalgia and a strange sense of joy because they really are some of the funniest people you've ever been around.

Like now, with four of them sprawled on the couch while Jeongguk and Hoseok make themselves comfortable leaning against the bookshelf under the TV - which has been bolted to the wall since it almost broke Namjoon's foot - and Namjoon watches them all from his bed since it's the only other place to sit. There are beer bottles scattered around and decorating the half-wall that separates the bed from the room proper, everyone is varying levels of drunk, and you're curled up close to Namjoon, leaning against the wall so you can stop him from knocking over any of the bottles nearby because you know him too well at this point.

"I'm just saying, I don't understand why they made him so over-powered in the new movies, because he's supposed to be some kid from Brooklyn! Giving him the high-tech suit essentially strips him of the friendly neighborhood persona that he's always relied on!" Jeongguk has been ranting for a while about the newest release in the Spiderman franchise - apparently, he's part of the actual Avengers now, which is a shock to you since the last thing you heard before you died was that the franchise was canceled until further notice or something.

"And I'm saying that if they didn't give him the suit then it would've made no sense how he was able to do those things," Yoongi responds. You're pretty sure he's just arguing to be contrary at this point, because you remember him telling Namjoon the other day that he prefers DC over Marvel.

"Garfield's Spiderman could do those things," you mutter, "And he didn't have a fancy suit."

"Okay, then how do you explain Andrew Garfield's version being able to do that stuff? He doesn't need the suit, he never has!" You preen at the way Jeongguk echoes your thoughts. "I'm telling you, I don't care how good the relationship with Holland's Spidey and Iron Man is, by giving him the tech and the advancements they did, they've undermined everything that Spiderman is supposed to be about."

"Jeongguk come off it, everyone knows Garfield's Spidey was just all bad writing. I mean, what kind of person can do all that stuff, realistically? He's the one that really needed the Stark suit." Taehyung's voice is slurred and quiet, definitely as drunk as the rest of them. 

"What-! No! I could do half of that without being bitten by a weird science spider!" Jin scoffs at Jeongguk's words. 

"Yeah, sure, Guk. The same way you can do that bottlecap challenge."

"Bottle cap challenge, and yeah, I could!" The youngest stands and you don't bother to hide your grimace. 

"This isn't going to end well, is it?" You ask. No one acknowledges you, too busy finding something Jeongguk can kick the cap off of as the boy readies himself. He's steady on his feet but his face is red and he can't seem to stop giggling. 

"If I do this, you gotta call me SpiderGuk from now on, okay?" He says. No one agrees, but it doesn't stop him from laughing again and doing a couple of roundhouse kicks to warm up. 

"Okay, okay, Joonie doesn't have any regular water bottles, but we found a screw-top beer in the fridge so ya gotta use that," Jimin says as he stumbles over with said bottle. Jeongguk just nods, an adorable focused expression on his face. Jimin holds the bottle in the air, and you can already tell his grip isn't tight enough to keep the bottle still when Jeongguk kicks it. 

The next ten seconds happen in slow-motion. Jeongguk's leg flies out to kick but his drunken body isn't able to handle the sudden shift in balance, and he slips. His foot hits the bottle slightly too low, and it goes flying out of Jimin's weak grip into the air. Everyone in the room watches as it hurtles straight towards Namjoon's face, and you react out of habit and instinct, catching it in one hand before you even realize you've moved. 

Everyone freezes, staring at where the bottle hovers in front of Namjoon's face. You're the only one able to see your fingers wrapped around it. A shock jolts through you at the realization of what you've done and you drop the bottle as if it burned you. Fuck, they were all going to freak, then Namjoon would move out and you'd be stuck alone once more. You should've just shoved him out of the way, what were you thinking, you're so fucking stupid-

"Dude," Hoseok mutters from where he's perched on the arm of the couch. "Holy shit, Joon, you're fucking telepathic." 

Yoongi rolls his eyes and smacks his chest. "Telekinetic, you fucking-"

"Holy shit, you've got fucking superpowers!" Jeongguk squeaks. "Do it again!"

Namjoon isn't even able to get a word out before there's a book flying at his face, and you panic. You can't catch it, too rushed, but you manage to deflect it so it hits the bed with a soft thump instead of braining Namjoon straight in the nose. 

"Woah, you really do have superpowers," Jimin whispers. He lobs a bottlecap at Namjoon, and you catch it in your palm before letting it drop onto the half-wall. 

"I don't have...what the fuck you guys," Namjoon insists. His eyes are as wide as saucers behind the thick glasses he has on. He looks freaked out and you want nothing more than to hug him. Your hand reaches out of its own accord, halfway closing the distance to stroke his hair before you catch yourself. 

"Hey, levitate your plants," Jin demands. Namjoon looks panicked as he glances at the wall of plants, and you heave a sigh. With any luck, they're so drunk that they'll remember this as a strange fever dream, but you can't just let them keep throwing things at him. You crawl over to the wall, avoiding Namjoon as you do, and grasp one of the plants tight. It's a white pot with red polka dots, a simple RJ on the side, and it's fucking heavy. You only get it a few inches off the shelf before you're forced to put it down.

"Oh my god, catch this!" Taehyung throws a coffee mug straight at Namjoon's head and you panic again. You catch it, and you've decided you're fucking sick of them throwing things at him, so you lob it back and dart across the room to bounce it safely to the counter before it can break. 

Everyone in the room stares at the mug and then looks back at Namjoon, who hasn't moved from his spot on the bed. 

"Oh my god, you're a superhero," Jeongguk whispers, awe in his eyes. 

"That's fucked up," Yoongi mutters, wincing when Hoseok elbows him. 

"Maybe we should get some sleep," Namjoon says quietly. The others look like they want to disagree with him, and you have no doubt they want to explore the newfound 'abilities' of their friend, but they still start gathering trash together before they head out. 

Namjoon lays awake for a long time that night, glasses folded and sitting atop the half-wall beside you. He's oblivious to the way you watch him, too lost in thought to feel the weight of your stare or the chill in the air. 

"I don't understand," He says after a while. "I really don't, but there's got to be a reason for it." He doesn't elaborate, merely turns over and evens his breathing out until he starts snoring, but you watch him for most of the night. He's fascinating, this human, and you wonder what makes him so different from the others you've met. 

He apparently decides to experiment. You've known Namjoon is intelligent since he first moved in and you saw his collectible encyclopedias, but you hadn't realized just what it would be like in actuality. 

It starts simple. He'll toss something in the air and let it clatter to the ground. Nothing big, just little things like pencils or bottlecaps, and not far, just enough that his eyes narrow as he apparently tries to use his telekinetic abilities to manipulate them. 

It slowly graduates from there. Next comes the way he stares at something across the room, hyper-focused on whatever it is until you notice and move it around for him. It's a guessing game, sometimes, trying to figure out just what he wants to move or how he wants to move it, but each time you're successful, he smiles so brightly, dimples on full display. Who wouldn't want to make him smile like that?

It's hit or miss, sometimes. You're only so strong, and while you've had a lot of practice, you still get tired. You lifted his bookshelf almost a full inch before blacking out. Next thing you knew, a couple of days had passed and Namjoon was staring at a coffee mug. That was a significantly less fun day; between losing time and having to catch coffee mug after coffee mug, you were exhausted and a little shaken. 

So when he stops staring at things for extended periods of time, when he starts to go back to reading and scrolling the internet and bingeing all the completed shows that Netflix and Amazon had to offer, you're grateful for it. He still occasionally tests it out; he's always subtle about it, choosing to stare quietly until you notice and make whatever it is float around for a minute. Once you wandered around looking for him - a feat in a studio apartment - and found him just sitting on the bathroom floor, staring at a shampoo bottle.

You'd like to say that you don't move things entirely because he wants you to. It's a good test of your abilities and how far you can push yourself until it becomes too much, and it's always nice to have actual evidence that you still exist - in some form, at least - in the world. The validation that comes from seeing him smile every time you lift a pencil or slide a coffee mug to the side, it's not for any reason but the satisfaction of knowing that you have some kind of existence. Some kind of impact on the world, even if you can't be seen and can't leave the apartment.

It's part of why you start moving things around yourself more often; you're hoping he just blames it on his overactive 'abilities' if he notices because you really aren't sure what he would think otherwise. But you also know for a fact that just seeing that you have some kind of sway over the world still - over the things inside this tiny apartment - makes you feel just that bit better about being dead.

Which is why it's such a fucking shock when the door to the apartment slams open one evening just for Namjoon to slam it closed again and announce into the air, "So I know you're haunting me, please don't try to deny it, I only want to talk to you."

You freeze where you are, halfway through the closet door from where you were reorganizing his clothes because they made no sense and you were bored. He's looking around the apartment, almost desperate in the way he's searching, and you can't bring yourself to move. It's obvious he can't see you, and you aren't even sure if he's being serious, but the way he huffs and clenches his jaw before moving into the kitchen tells you that he probably is.

You follow him, curious, and watch as he pulls a small package out of his bag and starts ripping it open. You float the remains of what looks like gift wrap over to the trashcan, because you know Namjoon will forget, before going back to watching him. He's only a little careful as he cracks something in his hands and then slaps it onto the fridge, and you peek around him to see that it's some kind of words or something. There’s a wide variety, with no clear theme to them, as well as at least one of each letter of the alphabet. It's then you remember the throwaway comment Yoongi made during that night - "You need, like, poetry stuff, like those magnets that go on the fridge that people write that deep shit with, y'know? I'm gonna buy you one," - and realize that he'd followed through on his vow. 

"Alright," Namjoon says, leaning against his kitchen counter and staring at the magnets. "First and foremost, am I really being haunted or is this some kind of hallucination?" His gaze never falters, doesn’t ever drift from the magnetic words now spread across his fridge doors. It takes several minutes to build up the energy and the courage to move closer to the fridge.

You don't look at him as you move the words around, but you can hear the sharp intake of breath. That's likely all the confirmation that he needs, but still you clear a spot and let the words ' I am here ' sit where he can see them clearly. You wrinkle your nose, disliking how formal it sounds, but you have to make do, you suppose.

"Okay," Namjoon breathes. "Okay, prove it. My brain could work this into a hallucination. How do I know you're really a ghost?"

"Seriously?" You huff. "What the fuck am I supposed to do that wouldn't work into a hallucination, dude?"

He gets fidgety in the few minutes that you spend wondering how the fuck you're going to prove that you're a real actual ghost to someone who clearly doesn't believe in them. His foot taps at the floor and he scratches at his hand, which only makes you want to wrap your own hands around his until he stops, much like your best friend used to lay her legs across your lap to get you to stop shaking your knee.

The realization comes in a flash, and you're moving letters around before you can stop yourself.

Face book, Park Jihyo, best friend.

Namjoon stares at it for a long while before he brings his phone out of his pocket and begins to tap at the screen. You don't get too close; you've got a history with shorting out electronics, and you aren't sure you want to know what your best friend is up to without you there with her.

"Okay," Namjoon says. "Okay, I've never seen her before, so I don't think my brain could work her into a hallucination. Okay. Alright. I'm being haunted. This is fine."

"Calm down, I'm haunting the apartment, not you." He doesn't react to your words, as usual, but it still makes you feel the slightest bit better. He stares at his phone for a little longer, and the curiosity burns under your skin, but you resist. You know from experience that if you try to get too close, his phone will stop working. Just like TV, the stereo, the laptops, everything. You've had enough experience with that kind of thing to know what will happen.

"Okay, Casper," Namjoon huffs out after several minutes of waiting. He looks up and his eyes dart around the apartment, and you wonder if he's just nervous or if he's trying to spot you. "Where are you right now? Can you make yourself visible? I mean, I know you're a ghost, but it feels rude not talking to you to your face."

You huff a laugh but reach for a coffee cup. You know you can't just make yourself visible at will; you've only done it a couple of times, to your knowledge, and none of them have been on purpose. It's even more difficult to make yourself corporeal and physical, harder than just manipulating objects, but you did it once. Back when the single mom still lived here, when her toddler was falling and you had no way to cushion the fall except with your own body; you still aren't sure how it happened, but you remember being able to feel the floor against your back and the warmth of the baby on top of you for a split second before you were gone again. You won't forget that any time soon.

You float the mug towards where you stand, holding it in front of your face long enough that when you pull it away, Namjoon's eyes don't follow it. It's a strange feeling; you know he can't see you, can tell by the way his brow furrows and his eyes slide around the space, but it feels like he's looking straight at you. It feels like you're being seen for the first time since you died.

"So, where are you from, Casper?" His tone is forcibly conversational, as if he's trying his best to keep himself calm. You roll your eyes and move the magnets to show ' here ' and he nods. "You're not gonna try to possess me, or kill me, or run me off, are you? No offense or anything. I figure you would've already at this point, but...cover my bases."

No. Am nice. I think.

"You think? You don't know if you're a nice ghost?"

Does anyone truly know if they are nice? You frown, trying to figure out how to say what you want to say with the limited words available. I can only try. It's still not perfect; there's more that you want to say, more that you want to be heard, but this has to do for now.

"I can accept that. Alright. Just talking to a ghost in my kitchen. Okay. This is totally normal." He rubs a hand over his face, and you're a little impressed. Everyone else that's lived here has freaked when presented with the knowledge that you're a ghost. Namjoon looks very much like his world is exploding, but he doesn't have the same fear and apprehension in his eyes. He's certainly coping better than the single mom.

"Are you the only ghost? Here, I mean, are you the only ghost here?" He breathes a sigh of relief at your 'yes.’ "Can you see other ghosts? Do you know any other ghosts?" The 'don't know, no' that you move around on your fridge seems to unsettle him a little, but there's a curiosity burning behind it that makes your skin tingle.

Can't leave, is what you say next, cutting off whatever question he was about to ask.

"You can't leave at all? The building, or the apartment?"

The second.

"Wow. You're really stuck here?" He looks around the apartment as if seeing it for the first time and sucks in a breath. "What do you do all day?"

Watch. He cocks a brow. You are... You hesitate. The word you need isn't there, everything that comes to you is too poetic or corny for you to actually say, but the weight of his eyes is heavy on your hands. Fun is what you settle on, but it's not right either. 'Interesting' isn't there, nor is 'fascinating' or 'lovely,' and you don't want to scare him off by telling him that part of the reason you watch him so much is that he's so full of life that you feel less dead when he's around.

He laughs at your words though and shakes his head ever so slightly. "Alright, well, I'm gonna shower, so just, don't...watch that?" You squawk at the insinuation that you would, quickly rearranging the letters to spell ' privacy' and making a large angry face out of the rest of the words. He's already turned away, though, and it makes you angrier.

You don't want him thinking that you would peep at him. You already make sure that you're facing the windows when he finishes showering, you've been determined to not be creepy since the day he moved in, and to have him think otherwise is like a slap in the face. You slam the mug against the counter and he startles, turning to gape at it. You carry it to where your words and make-do emoji sit waiting for him to notice them.

"Okay," He says quickly. "Okay, privacy, yeah, got it. You respect my privacy. Appreciated."

"How fucking rude," You mutter as you set the mug back down. You don't adjust the magnets as he disappears into the bathroom. You want him to see them, want him to be reminded of the fact that being dead doesn't mean you don't have basic decency.

You can't get him to shut up now that he knows you're there. He still forgets sometimes, mostly when he's talking to his plants or narrating the way he carefully constructs some origami creation, but more often than not, he's talking to thin air. He spends a lot of time perched on his counter, watching you move magnets around his fridge through the thick lenses of his glasses before he spouts off some other question for you to answer. 

He covers the basics first: how old you were when you died, when your birthday is, your favorite color, what you were studying in school, and of course your name, though he insists on calling you Casper. You aren't sure why but you also don't get a chance to question it, because he hits you with more and more questions every day. Sometimes you don't answer because you can't, too limited by the poetry magnets to be able to really converse; sometimes you just don't have the energy to move the magnets around, but those are days are rare. The only times you use the tired magnet are when you find your limbs too heavy to move, weighed down with the memories of what it meant to be alive. 

Those are the bad days, but his questions make them just a little easier.

"How do you move around? Do you just float everywhere?" Walking, but different. No weight. Soft.

"How are you able to manipulate things in my world? Are they different from things in your world?" Focus. Takes time. Same.

"Do you sleep at all? Do ghosts dream?" No sleep. Just existing.

"You don't eat, do you? Should I be stocking up on snacks for you?" No. Save your sustenance. "What was the last thing you ate?" Don't remember. "Huh. I hope it was something good." Same.

"Were you ever in a relationship?" Once. A long time before. "Do you miss them?" Not anymore.

"What did you do while you were alive?" School. "Oh, really? Do you remember what you studied?" Boring. Important then, but it made me forget to live. Not important now. Namjoon goes quiet for a long moment after this one, staring out the window at something you can't see. He nods but doesn't ask any more questions, and he reads for the rest of the night.

It only takes a couple of weeks for both you and Namjoon to get tired of standing in his kitchen fucking around on the fridge. His legs get tired and he gets distracted by his thoughts, and you can barely keep up with the rapid-fire questions you get.

So Namjoon buys one of those cheap cookie sheets with the slightest lip at the edge and dumps the magnets on that. He leaves it on the coffee table, usually, there for you to pick up if he asks something but out of the way for when he stretches out to nap lazily in the afternoon sun.

You like the cookie sheet more than the fridge. He watches you as you work out your responses, can see the way you start to move one word before moving another instead; it makes it feel more like a conversation.

It becomes a favorite pass-time of Namjoon's, curling on the couch and putting some sort of music on in the background and just talking to you. A lot of nights his questions stop with a lingering silence from one or both of you; yours because you don't have the ability to share the words running rampant through your mind, and his for reasons still unknown to you. Still, you've missed it. You've missed talking to someone, being heard when you speak, having someone ask how you are at the end of the day.

It's the little things.

"You said you can't leave, right, Casper?" Namjoon's curled up on his couch, tucked into the arm with a blanket thrown over his lap, a mug of something warm in his hands to combat the chill of the season, and some R&B track playing lightly from his phone. You knock your fist against the cookie once - a sign for yes that you'd both agreed on. "So, are you just always here then? You don't go anywhere else?"

"Fuck, how do I explain this?" You mutter. You stare at the magnets in front of you for a long time before rearranging them. Not always. Tired sometimes, disappear.

"Disappear?" He reads. "What do you mean? You just, what, stop existing?"

Don't know, you respond. Only happens when tired. When used too much of me. He hums an acknowledgment, eyes focused on where the cookie sheet sits on the couch between you. You? What entertains you?

"Everything," he answers without hesitation. "I'm trying to work through my stack of books I want to read and finish all the shows I'm interested in, but the guys would have my head if I didn't get out and do things like a normal person."

That's where you leave to?

"Yeah." He sets his mug - now empty - on the coffee table and settles into the blankets. He looks cozy and soft and you would wrap yourself up with him if you could. "I take a lot of walks, and bike rides. I like to see the river, the trees, all the animals that live there. The beach is always fun, I get to see all the crabs and whatnot that wander in and out of the ocean."

"I wish I could go with you," you whisper.

Fun is what you spell on your sheet.

"I guess," he mutters. "It's enjoyable, at least. I'll bring you some souvenirs, or pictures next time."

You let the sheet settle on the couch as he turns the TV on, setting up a drama that he's on recently. He doesn't say anything else for a few hours, waits until the sound of rain hits the windows and stifles the apartment in an otherworldly haze.

"How long have you been dead?" His voice lingers in the air. You've been expecting these questions, and you're honestly impressed he's held them back for as long as he has. That angsty teen hadn't hesitated a single second to start asking you questions.

A while. Years. I think .

"Do you ever get tired of being a ghost?" There's something in his voice that you can't place, something that tells you this is more than just his usual morbid curiosity. Every part of your soul - whatever's left of it, anyway - is screaming at you to lie to him, to tell him that no, being a ghost is great. You've never wished he could hear you more than this moment, when all you want to is wrap your arms around him and ask him why he looks so much older than he is.

Sometimes, you tell him. It is lonely here, and boring. Fun to be unseen, but unable to do much more.

He nods like that makes all the sense in the world to him, and he brings the blanket up around his shoulders. "Do you ever miss your friends, or your family?"

Would you not? He huffs out an unamused chuckle, nodding again.

"Yeah," He says softly. "Yeah, I would. Do you want me to help you check on them? See what they're up to?" The single knock that echoes in the room is deafening to you, filled with a hope that you haven't felt in years. You've never let yourself think about them for long; if you did, you don't think you'd be able to come back from whatever that place is that you disappear to when things become Too Much.

Namjoon pulls his phone closer and starts fiddling with it. He doesn't hesitate when he types in your name, and you feel an emotional blush fill you when you see that he doesn't even have to finish typing for your profile to pop up. You glance at him, the way his brows are furrowed behind his glasses and his tongue pokes into his cheek just a little while he concentrates, and you wonder how many times he's looked at the pictures of you when you were alive. How many times has he scrolled through, reading the words people shared after you were gone, scrolling through the grief and loss to get to the words you posted yourself, the little snippets of your daily life that you would give anything to be able to relive?

"Do I still look like that?" You wonder aloud. As expected, he doesn't react, just continues tapping at his phone.

You two spend the rest of the night like that, each curled at opposite ends of the couch while Namjoon slowly looks up your friends and family and updates you on each of them. Jihyo got married, to someone she'd gone on a date with a few weeks before you passed, and she's apparently trying to start having kids; Your mother and father aren't very active, but they never were. They both share pictures of you when you were a baby each year on your birthday, and more recent photos of you on the anniversary. They have a dog now. It's cute. You wonder if it helps them cope with the loss.

Your other friends are doing well, too; most of them are still figuring out their lives, but it seems like all of them are settling in their skin and finding comfort in who they are. They're out there, navigating the world and doing things they enjoy, meeting new friends and making new memories.

You stand by the window for a long time, cookie sheet of magnetized words pressed against your chest as if you can feel the cool of the metal against your skin, and watch rain drip down the panes as you imagine what your life could have been.

You can always hear Namjoon before you see him. He whistles as he walks down the sidewalk, his small way of letting you know he's on his way back from wherever he's gone that day, and today isn't an exception. Relief sags through you and you move away from the windows, let your fingers trail against the ceramic of the newest succulent he'd bought, and head towards the kitchen. The kettle is turned on and heating a few moments later while you pull a mug down from your cabinet and set it carefully on the counter where Namjoon will see it.

It's a regular routine, for the two of you. He heads out, usually in the early morning after turning on some music or a show for you, and when he comes back, you make sure there's hot water for his tea or cocoa or whatever he feels like drinking that day. The sound of his whistling gets louder the closer he gets, a simple way to let you know he's safe and he's home. You glance through the cabinets and quickly make a note on the fridge that he needs to buy more of his special tea blend soon.

The lock turns and you smile, waiting patiently as Namjoon saunters into the apartment. He sets something down on the kitchen counter just as the kettle starts to scream, and you wait while he pours the water and gets it ready.

"The cherry blossoms bloomed," He says. You grin. "They look great. I got some really nice pictures while I was there, I'll show you tonight. I was thinking we could try to finish Voltron tonight if you want. We'll have to go back an episode though, I think I fell asleep during the last one." You knock once against the counter beside you, and he turns with a wide grin to glance at the spot where you stand.

It's ridiculous for your heart to speed up in your chest, for the hair on the back of your neck to rise, for breath to catch in your throat; you don't have a heartbeat, you don't have breath, you're a shadow of the person you used to be, and yet...

And yet, seeing his dimpled smile focused so naturally on where you are, as if it's just second-nature, is like a breath of fresh air after years underwater. It smells like flowers, like dirt and earth and a new beginning. It feels like you're alive again, and you don't want it to end, but too soon he's turning away to finish steeping the tea. Something lingers in the air for a moment after but it's gone too soon for you to place it.

You both settle on the couch, Namjoon tucking whatever he brought home with him under his arm, between his body and the arm of his ratty old couch. Your cookie sheet is in its place on the coffee table, unneeded at the moment. You can't help the glare that you give it; the things you would give to be able to just speak and be heard are endless.

It rattles a little and you look away.

Namjoon is quiet as the show plays. He doesn't react when you move to turn the oven on, but he does laugh quietly and thank you for it when he goes to put his dinner in. He eats and you don't bother him, though the way he keeps his little package hidden away makes curiosity burn through you. Eventually, once he's eaten and washed his dishes and laughed at the way you rubbed them dry before setting them carefully in their places, he settles back into his blankets and turns on the music he loves so much.

He's got a book balanced in his hands and your cookie sheet rests on the coffee table, and you both just sit like that for a long while, enjoying existing.

"You remember your life, right Casper?" You thump lazily against the wall in response, eyes drawn from where you watch the gloomy sky slowly get lighter with the dawn. He isn't looking at his book anymore; he probably hasn't been for a while, based on the way the pages have migrated around his thumb, too busy staring at the wall across from him. "Do you remember your death?"

You hesitate. You've tiptoed around the subject before. He's always been too afraid to ask directly, and it's too painful for you to offer it freely. You thump against the wall once more, and he nods like he already knew the answer.

"Are they very different?" His glasses are falling down his nose and your fingers itch to push them up. Instead, you reach for your cookie sheet. He makes a sound in the back of his throat when he sees it moving, reaching under him for his package. "I forgot, I got you this. Thought it might be easier."

He sets it down and you slide the contents out of the wrapping easily. Inside is a small dry-erase board, complete with markers and eraser, small things that should be easy for you to manipulate. You beam at him; he can't see it, but you think he might be able to feel it because he perks up and smiles a little.

"You don't have to answer," He adds. "I was just curious to know if being dead is really as different as everyone makes it out to be." You nod and thump once against the board before you uncap a marker and start writing.

It's a bizarre feeling, after so long. The muscles in your hand don't ache, no matter how much you write, and you can't feel the smooth surface of the board under your fingers or the weight of the marker in your palm, but it glides against it cleanly and leaves a thick black streak behind.

It takes you a minute to write everything out, get it worded how you want. Namjoon doesn't interrupt you, just watches the marker move against the board and smiles every time you go to erase something that isn't right. Eventually you show it to him.

There are similarities. I'm still me, I still enjoy TV and music and books. Things are duller now, like there's a filter over them, and it's harder to do things. Like when you're in water, or mud, like that. Resistance.

"Oh," Namjoon replies, "That's not what I expected. It makes sense though I guess." His hand moves against his chest, rubbing lightly as he looks over your words again. "Is there anything you actually like about being a ghost?"

"Well, being invisible is pretty cool," You say, writing the words as you do. "And it's actually really fun being able to walk through walls and stuff, even if I can't go anywhere outside of the apartment."

"I'm sorry you're stuck here," Namjoon says. You startle a little, looking up at him. You think he actually heard you for a split second, but his eyes are locked on where you're writing your words out on the dry erase board.

"Yeah, me too," You tell him. He stares at the board for a long moment, chewing nervously on his bottom lip as he does. "Ask what you want to ask, Joon," You write as you say it.

"How did you die?" He blurts. You sigh and he jumps a little, looking fully at where you sit. You're shocked; you know that sometimes little noises cross over, like when Jin heard you laughing, but it's still rare. You can't figure out how it works, but you want to.

You write for a long time, letters small so they fit on the board. The whole thing is crowded together, looks like one long string of letters instead of the story it is.

There's a lot of violence in this neighborhood. You probably know that by now. People are always getting robbed or mugged or something around here. Someone tried to break into my apartment by banging the door down. It didn't work, luckily, but I got really paranoid afterwards. One night I was cooking, and someone's door slammed really hard. I spilled the water I was boiling, slipped. Blacked out after a while, and when I came to, there were police everywhere. I guess I hit my head harder than I thought, because they carted me away, and I couldn’t follow.

"I'm sorry," Namjoon says softly. "You deserved more time."

Yeah. The universe had a different plan, I guess. He smiles at that, and it settles the anxiety thrumming under your skin. Wouldn't have met you, so I guess that's a bonus. He rolls his eyes at you but he laughs softly, so you consider it a win. You doodle on the board then, simple little designs that don't mean anything beyond being able to see your effect on the world.

Namjoon sucks in a breath beside you and you look up at him. He's always been good about looking towards where you are, doing his best to make eye contact with someone he can't see, but he still always tends to look through you.

Not this time.

This time, electricity sings through the air as your eyes meet his. You don't know how, but you know he can see you. His eyes roam over you, taking in the crumpled sweater you were wearing with the stain you like to think is pasta sauce on the arm, the hair you can't ever really tame, the way you sit cross-legged on his old thread-bare couch with a dry erase board in your hands.

Neither of you moves. He looks torn between fear and amazement, every emotion in between flitting quickly over his features, and you're terrified that if you move, whatever spell that's been cast will fade. It had been so long since you talked to anyone when Namjoon slammed those magnets on the fridge, and the conversation has been a reprieve, but to be seen for the first time in years...

It's invigorating.

Watching Namjoon just look at you is something you won't ever forget, not for as long as you exist in the world. He looks at you like he's memorizing every detail, every hair and wrinkle and pore, and just knowing that he can see you fills you with something new.

"Namjoon...?" You call hesitantly. His eyes fall on your lips.

"Again," He says. Your brows must furrow, maybe you frown, you don't know because it's been so long since you've needed to pay attention to your facial expressions, but he notices your confusion. "Will you say something again?"

Breath you don't have catches in your throat, wraps itself around a heart that doesn't beat, but you smile a little. "I'm glad I met you."

Namjoon smiles. It's big and blinding and knocks everything out of you except for that emotion that's been sitting in your chest since the first time you watched him talk to his plants. You lean forward, and you can tell the exact moment you disappear, because his smile falls and his eyes unfocus. A whimper leaves your throat, but he doesn't react, and that may be the most painful thing that's ever happened to you.

"Can I feel you?" His voice is hushed but the words reverberate in your head. His eyes dart around, looking for any glimpse of you, and your hand trembles as you reach out.

Goosebumps raise on his cheek where your hand touches him and his breath stops for a moment, but he smiles again and leans into the chill. You bring your other hand up to cup his other cheek, your dry erase board lying forgotten on the ground, and Namjoon's eyes flutter closed.

"I think I might love you," You say quietly just before you press your lips to his. He doesn't react to your words, but he lets out a soft sigh at your kiss. Thunder cracks through the apartment, a torrent of rain unleashed on the windows, but you don't move.

The two of you sit like that for hours, until he starts shivering and his nose turns red, like it does when he forgets his scarf on the cold days, and his breath puffs in the air. When you finally pull away from him, he smiles, and the blush on his cheeks has nothing to do with the cold air that makes up your form.

"Yeah," He says softly, voice nearly drowned out by the storm raging outside. "Yeah, I can feel you."

If you expected things to change much after that, you were wrong. At least a little. Namjoon still disappears to go on his walks, you still start the kettle the second his whistles drift up to the apartment. He still asks you a million questions, but they're more normal now. Your favorite music, color, what you wished you'd done with your life, if you've been able to corporealize again recently, what you wanted to watch that night.

"Come on, Casper," Namjoon groans. "I promise you can do it." You huff and he smiles, clearly having heard it. You're tempted to just disappear somewhere, rattle some pipes in the bathroom or the kitchen so he thinks you're in there and leaves you alone, but he smiles at you again and you're weak for that dimple.

You grip the watering can again, doing your best to lift it and manipulate it the way you need to. It's heavy, and something about the metal makes your skin itch, but the more you struggle the more you're able to pour the slightest bit of water where RJ - a giant plant that you don't even know the name of - sits in the corner of the room across from Namjoon's bed. It's the twentieth-something time you've tried this today, and you're ten seconds from just giving up completely, but you can tell this is important to Namjoon.

He's been talking all week, between the late nights where you lay over his blanket-wrapped form and the mornings where he ducks out with a soft goodbye. He's told you everything about his plants that you think he possibly could, teaching you about them and showing you how to care for them. It's interesting, you won't lie, and it's always fun to see him light up when you recall something he's told you, but you're exhausted and every part of you is shaky, and you're more than a little worried of what might happen if you push too far again.

Still, Joon hasn't looked great lately, like he might be getting the flu, and you want to be able to help him with all the things he does in the house. You've already started doing the dishes and folding laundry, since those were the two things he was the absolute worst at, but you feel like you should be doing more.

"Good job, baby, I'm proud of you!" You grunt and let the watering can fall back to the ground with a loud thump that almost definitely has the downstairs neighbors cursing Namjoon's name. "See, and now we're done for the day! C'mon, we can put on Sens8 and cuddle."

He's on the couch before you can stop him, wrapping himself in blankets except for one lone hand that sticks out, expectant. You roll your eyes and sit beside him, close enough that if you had a body you would be cuddling instead of just sitting awkwardly beside him.

You know that this is just going to make your hand all pink and gross, right?

He just smiles when the board flips around to reveal itself and wiggles his fingers. "It's worth it," He says. "I'd rather be pink and gross than never get to hold your hand at all."

You can't even feel my hand, Joon, there's literally no point to this. He huffs and wraps his hand around the marker in your hand, shivering at the chill that runs through him when he does. He grins and gestures down to where the tips of his fingers are already turning red.

"Clearly I can feel it, Casper."

You're glad he can't see you, that you don't have a heart that beats or blood that runs, because if you did, your face would no doubt be red. You have no doubts that Namjoon would tease you about it.

He's quiet as you both watch the show; he makes the odd comment here or there, but his mood seems to have calmed some. When he first got back from whatever place he visited that day, he'd been anxious and jumpy and entirely too on edge.

"Hey, Casper?" He asks quietly. You slide a hand against his cheek to let him know you're there, and he leans into the chill again. "What do you think about me?"

You don't move for several seconds, hand still poised around his cheek.

"Like, your feelings. What are they? Will you tell me?" You knock once on the wall behind the couch. Your hand stays poised over your board for long enough that Namjoon starts to get a little restless. Words refuse to come to you. Every time you start to think you have a way to describe to him what he means to you, they disappear as quick as fog on a summer's afternoon. Frustrated, you let the board fall to the couch and scrawl a quick 'hold on' so he knows you aren't just ignoring him.

It's been weeks since you've seen what you're looking for, your cookie sheet with the word magnets having been basically forgotten in lieu of the more personal and convenient dry-erase board, but right now you know that if words won't come to you, you'll have to go to them.

You finally find it, shoved under several encyclopedias and magazines, and the noise you make is so triumphant that even Namjoon hears it. You curl back up beside him, careful to make sure the blanket is wrapped tight around him, and make sure he can see the words as you move them. It still takes a long time, constantly changing and rearranging and stacking to make sure it conveys the things you need it to convey.

You are like music. A symphony of summer days and peach skies with soft rain. You are a storm in the moonlight. I'm not lonely when I have you pouring around me. You make me feel alive again.

Namjoon is silent for a long time, and you wonder if you've gone too far. It's more poetic than you'd like, too frilly and fancy and emotional than you usually are, but they're the only words you have.

After too long, he exhales. It's heavy and deep and it feels like he's trying to expel more than just air from his body.

"You make me feel alive, too," is all he says, whispered into the softness of his blanket in a voice too small for his long limbs. He shivers, and you hear him choke down a cough, and then he disappears into the bathroom for a long time. When he comes back out, he doesn't say anything, just slides into the mass of blankets on his bed and lays his arm out across the mattress. You spread out across from him, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he looks through you and out the window where the rain is letting up.

"Looks like the rainy season is gonna last longer than everyone thought." You slide your hands around one of his large ones and just hold them like that. His eyes sink closed and something like relief stands on his face for a moment before it's gone, swept away by the peace of sleep.

You wonder what it is that he sees when he looks out the window. If it's the plain brick wall and windows of the building next door, or something more.

You aren't sure you want to know.

Namjoon's flu only seems to get worse. He leaves early in the mornings, as if he thinks you might not notice the way he coughs into his scarf just because the sun hasn't risen fully yet. He stays gone most of the days, and even when he apologizes quietly during the twilight when he slinks back in to the sound of the kettle screeching on the stove and his tea already waiting to be steeped, he still doesn't stop.

You've taken to playing blues while he's gone, mostly the old school stuff, digging out the vintage record player he has buried in the closet and setting it up on the coffee table. It’s the only technology you can use without shorting it out. You don’t know why, but it makes you grateful the record collection Namjoon keeps tucked away inside the coffee table that you’ve learned is in fact an actual steamer trunk that he salvaged and restored himself.

The music fills the apartment, distracts you from the oppressive weight of his absence. He knows you wait at the window for him, you told him that back when the two of you were first getting to know each other.

You're so fragile, you had told him. He had laughed at you, quiet and fond, and waited for you to explain further. You're so full of life and breath and possibility, and the world is so big and so dangerous. I'm scared you won't come back.

"Of course I'm going to come back," he told you. You didn't even need to tell him that you're afraid of what being alone might do to you, now that you're so used to his presence. You're being heard again, sometimes even seen, and you don't know if you can go back to the stagnant depression of solitude. "I'll always come back to you."

That was the first time you thought you might love Namjoon. The feeling has only gotten stronger, and now that you wait at the window with your eyes focused on that tiny section of sidewalk you can see at the end of the alley, it threatens to consume you whole.

You wait at the window for hours. You know because you glance at the clock every minute and a half, mocking you with every tick as it hangs limply on the bathroom door. The sun sinks below the horizon, the moon rises to take its place, and they switch again while you wait. The dawn paints the sky in beautiful shades of pink and red and orange and the faintest purple, but you can't appreciate any of it, because you're too anxious.

He could be hurt. He could be gone, and you wouldn't ever know until his friends came to pack his things. He could have left, too; maybe he finally decided that living with a ghost was just too much for him and just ran. Maybe he figured out that you love him, that you would move heaven and earth if it meant he was safe forever if only you could leave this apartment, and it was too much for him.

What if he knows about how you lay beside him every night? How you tuck the blankets tighter around him, cover him in warmth and comfort before settling on top of them and closing your eyes and pretending that you can feel his arm draped over your waist and his breath on the back of your neck. What if he felt you, that night you wandered into the bathroom while he was showering to write on the steam-covered mirror that he needs to buy more eggs soon and got distracted by the way he looked stepping out of the shower? What if he knows your stomach flipped at the long limbs and the hidden muscles and the sheer size of him? What if he knows the real reason you were quiet that night, the way you kept replaying the moment in your mind and wishing you had a body so you could have just touched him, at least.

It's closer to noon than midnight when his whistle echoes up through the window.

"Hey, I'm home," He calls as he enters the empty apartment. You're upset, but you're more filled with relief than anything because at least he's safe and he's here now. He makes a beeline for where the kettle is just starting to whistle, already reaching for the honey and the tea you set out on the counter for him, and you do your best to calm the storm of emotions inside you.

Did you have fun, wherever you were? You ask him, floating the whiteboard in front of his face so he has to acknowledge it.

"Yeah, I did," he responds as he stirs his tea. "Jin invited everyone over for some end of summer thing. I didn't feel too great at the end of it, so I just spent the night there."

Don't party too hard, you might remember how to have fun, you joke. It falls a little flat based on the grim smile Namjoon gives you. Are they gonna come over here again anytime soon? I've missed scaring Hoseok.

He lets out a real laugh at that. "I don't know, maybe. My birthday's coming up, after Jeongguk's, so they could definitely be planning something. I'm heading over to Yoongi's later to help plan for Guk's party. I might stay there tonight, so try not to worry, Casper."

I'll try, you tell him. You both know you'll stand at the window every second he's gone, but you don't want to tell him why. You don't want to tell him that you love him through a dry erase board, or some fancy poetry magnets. It doesn't matter that you may as well have already said so by telling him that he makes you feel alive again; you haven't said the words to him, he hasn't seen 'I love you' in the messy scrawl that is your handwriting on some stupid board, and therefore he doesn't know.

You don't know if you want him to.

He stays gone that night, as he said he might, and reappears the next day to shower and change before he vanishes again. The next time he shows up, he takes a bag with him when he leaves, which only worsens your fears. He stays gone for three days this time, doesn't apologize when he turns up again and just mumbles a soft hello into the air before he makes tea and sags into his couch. He's asleep in seconds, and as much as you want to scream at him, you can't bring yourself to disrupt how peaceful he looks.

When he wakes, he takes a shower and ignores the ' can we talk ' you scrawled in the steam. He packs a bag of fresh clothes and doesn't say goodbye when he leaves, just disappears and leaves you standing at the window with the pail in your hand, caring for the plants he isn't. The slam of the door sounds like nails in a coffin and breaks what little was left of your soul.

He shows back up nearly a week later, and the relief at seeing him again is overridden by the sheer anger at being left in the first place. You don't start the kettle when you hear his whistle, the quiet and hoarse tune of a familiar song barely reaching the window, but there's plenty of noise when he enters.

The cabinet doors are quaking with your fury, the lights flicker and threaten to burst, and Namjoon just leans back against the door. He’s soaked from the storm thundering outside, even his jacket plastered to his skin, and he’s shivering slightly, but you can’t see anything past the rage.

"Where the fuck were you?" You demand; there's no point, it's not like he can hear you, but the way he sighs makes you feel like he can, so you continue anyway. "It's been almost a week, you didn't even think to stop by for ten seconds so I know you're okay? I thought you were dead somewhere, you could've been, like, shot, or something, I don't know, just bleeding out in some ditch, and I wouldn't know! And what about all the plants? I know how to take care of them, sure, but do you know how hard it is for me to do it?"

Namjoon sighs again, the breath catching in his throat and coming out in a cough, but you don't pay much attention to it.

"Why would you act like this, Namjoon? What did I do, is it because of the things I said? Do you not want me to feel like this about you? Because this a damn good way of making sure I don't, I assure you, so by all means, just keep disappearing and leave me alone with the plants you decided to rescue and save!"

His cough gets worse and he just shakes his head, covering his mouth and making his way towards the bathroom.

"If you want me to hate you, it's too fucking late, Joon!" The slam of the bathroom door punctuates your sentence, and you quiet at the sound of continued coughing. You knew his flu was getting worse, but it's never sounded like that. Even when you were alive, you knew that the wet sound that's muffled by the bathroom door isn't what a cough should sound like. The lock of the door clicks, and it shocks you into movement because he's never - never - locked you out of anywhere. He knows it wouldn't stop you, knows it as well as you know that you'd respect that boundary if he set it, and yet here he is, locking you out even as he coughs up what sounds like a lung in the other room.

You hesitate at the door, torn between respecting his boundaries and knowing what’s happening. You want him to trust you, always, and yet you find your hand disappearing through the door before you can stop it. You stand like that for a long moment, just listening to the sounds of his wracking coughs; the sound of a crash echoes through the apartment, though, and you’re through the door completely in the span of a heartbeat. 

Nearly everything that had been on the counter is scattered on the ground, Namjoon himself gripping the sides of the toilet as if he would fall apart otherwise. A single glance tells you that the crash happened as he turned from the sink to the toilet, and if his jolting shoulders didn’t tell you why, the sounds of his retching would. That isn’t what fills you with dread though; the disorientation, the vomiting, all of it comes with being sick sometimes, but the red staining the bathroom sink? 

That’s not normal, and you know with every part of you that it’s the reason he’s been gone so much. 

The temperature in the apartment drops with the sun, but your arms surround Namjoon as best they can. Goosebumps break out on his arms, shivers run down his back, but you don’t move away from him; he doesn’t say anything, just sits there with his forehead pressed against the cool of the porcelain. He stands eventually, ignores the way he passes completely through your body to rinse the sink and brush his teeth. 

You let him stay quiet until you’re both on his bed; you’re pressed up against his side and running your hands along his forearms, idly wondering if you would be able to feel his heartbeat if you were alive. 

“It’s not...it’s not gonna get better,” He says eventually. “There’s not a cure, just some things to draw it out and give me a little bit longer even if they come with more pain. I go once a week to see if it’s gotten worse, check how much longer I have. It’s why Hobi let me move in here rent-free. He pays the bills, says it’s the least he can do. I wanted to be closer to him anyway, so that’s a bonus, I guess.”

“I’m so sorry, Joon,” you whisper. Your board lies forgotten, somewhere on the couch maybe, you aren’t sure and can’t be bothered to pull yourself away from him long enough to find it. You don’t need it right now, though; he knows what you mean by the way the cold presses against his bicep with your palm. 

“I didn’t want you to know.” You’re not exactly surprised at that; you’d figured as much. You just don’t understand his reasoning. “I didn’t want you worrying about me, or anything like that, like the guys do. They always look at me and it’s all they can see. Like they’re already mourning me, even though I’m still here. I didn’t want to feel like that with you.” 

“I know,” you say. You don’t, not really. Your own death was sudden, a shock to everyone you knew; you didn’t get the luxury of saying goodbye, didn’t have the burden of knowing you would be gone soon. 

The two of you sit in silence for a while, until you can feel Namjoon’s chest quivering under your palm. When you look up, he looks at you, really and truly at you , and he has tears in his eyes. 

“I don’t want to die, Casper,” He whispers. You suck in a breath because he can see you, and you don’t even know why, but you don’t want to lose this moment. “I don’t want to leave all of this behind. I don’t want to leave you.” 

“It’ll be okay,” you say softly. His brow furrows and a tear slides down his cheek. “I promise you it will be okay, Namjoon. It gets easier, and people remember but they aren’t stuck forever. And I…” You falter, and it takes his eyes meeting yours to make you realize he can hear you. And there’s only one thing you’ve ever needed him to hear. 

“I love you,” You tell him. “I love you, and I will never forget you.” 

He surges forward, lips meeting yours in a rush of air. You moan at the feeling of him against you, realizing that for the first time since you died, you can feel something under your fingers. His skin is warm against your fingers, his lips soft against your own, and when he reaches up to cup your jaw with his hand, he doesn’t pass through your form. Instead his hand settles heavy against you, and he moves your head to lick into your mouth. 

Tears that won’t fall prickle at the back of your eyes and you climb into his lap before he can stop you. He’s still crying so you wipe away the tears before they can fall, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, his dimples, his nose, every bit you can reach. A question sits at the back of your mind, and you can see it lingering in his eyes, but neither of you asks it.

“You’re so cold.” His whisper is nearly lost amidst the thunder that shakes the apartment, but it makes you smile a little. 

“Warm me up?” 

His chest is still quivering with unspoken sobs, but he nods. “Always,” he tells you. “I’m always going to be here.” It doesn’t take long to pry him out of his clothes, takes even less time for him to sink into you. It feels just like it did when you were alive, only magnified; you can feel him hot and warm inside you, can feel the beat of his heart in the firm muscle under your hands. His moans are quiet and hoarse but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He keeps one hand on your waist and the other on your neck, holding you close enough that he can kiss whenever he wants. “You’re beautiful,” He whispers. “The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” You just press another kiss to his chapped lips and let him dig his fingers in hard enough that it would bruise if it could. When he’s close to his peak, he stops thrusting, just sits inside you as he grinds your hips down to his, and presses his forehead against yours. 

“I love you,” He tells you, lightning casting his shadow across the wall for a brief moment. “I love you, I do, I wish-”

“I know,” you tell him before he can continue. “I know, Namjoon, I know, and I do, too. I love you, too.” He comes a few seconds later, the warm seed soaking into his sheets because it has nowhere to go. His warmth disappears from under your hands and his arms fall to his lap when the only thing holding them up is gone. All you can hear is your quiet sobs mixed with his and the rain against the window, and for the first time since you came back, you really, truly, wish you had died. There’s no point in being a ghost when you can still feel your heart breaking in your chest. 

“Casper, are you ever scared?” 

It’s the middle of the afternoon. Namjoon is sprawled across the couch wrapped in blankets while Lucifer plays in the background and you doodle aimlessly on your board. You don’t need it as often now; you’ve gotten better at focusing your energy into being heard, though being corporeal still eludes you. You don’t know how you did it that night, but you’re grateful for it. 

“Of what?” You ask, looking towards him. He’s not looking at you or watching the show, just staring at the ceiling. He focuses at your words, lifts himself up into a sitting position. A shiver runs through him when his legs move through you, and you settle a weightless hand against his knee out of habit. 

“I don’t know,” He replies. “Just...whatever comes next. If there’s something that comes next. Being forgotten. Being stuck here forever.” 

You aren’t stupid; you know why he’s asking. The question lingers in the air, colors all of your conversations now, but the truth is that neither of you has the strength to ask it and neither of you knows the answer. 

“Sometimes,” You tell him. “Sometimes I wonder what Jihyo is doing, if she ever had a baby like she wanted to. I wonder if my parents are still alive, and what they say if they visit my grave, what they tell me now that I can’t respond to them.” 

Namjoon nods like he’s already thought of that, and he probably has. 

“Most of the time I try not to focus on it, though. It’s not helpful, it only upsets me, and I don’t…” You trail off, unsure of how to word your thoughts. “I don’t know what might happen if I only focus on the negative. I don’t know anything about what’s true about ghosts and what isn’t beyond that I exist now, and I can’t risk becoming something bad. So I try not to focus on it. It’s easier when you’re here.”

He grins and blows a kiss in your general direction, and you pretend not to notice the blood on his cracked lips. He’s quiet for the rest of the episode of half of another. 

“Have you ever seen a light?” 

“What?” He doesn’t seem to hear you, and you repeat your question on your board for him. 

“A light,” He echoes. “Like, the light.Y’know, the light at the end of the tunnel, ‘don’t go into the light,’ that thing.” 

You hesitate at that. You knew what he meant, what he actually wants to know here. He’s easier to read now than he was in the beginning. 

You watch him as he watches the space where you sit, curled up beside him on his couch. He can’t see you, of course, but he can see where the board rests in your hands. His gaze is heavier than it was when he first moved in; his cheeks are hollower, skin more gaunt with a grey tint that’s only made worse by the constant rain. The sun is just starting to break through the clouds, a brief reprieve after weeks of the dreary stone-colored clouds. It casts shadows along the walls, reflects off something in the window across the alley, and backlights Namjoon beautifully, casts a halo of light around the brittle brown hair you love. 

Once, you tell him. Just once.

“Why didn’t you go to it?” 

There are so many things you could tell him, so many different ways to answer such a simple question, but you find yourself lingering on the one thing you know is the ultimate truth. 

Because I love you.

September comes with even more rain and a bittersweet atmosphere. Jeongguk spends his birthday at Namjoon’s apartment and then comes back a little over a week later, surrounded by the other guys and carrying enough food to last a few months. You stay curled on the bed, one of the only safe places for you to not mess with anyone or anything. Your board is tucked into the blankets, ready to be used but hidden from view just in case. You watch as Namjoon sits on the couch, tucked between Taehyung and Yoongi with both of them leaning into him as much as possible, Yoongi’s hands wrapped in one of his and Tae’s head on his shoulder. 

The other’s aren’t far, leaning against the back of the couch and on beanbags they’d brought with them, all laughing as Hoseok does his best to act out whatever he’d been given in charades. He’s not bad at it - you’ve guessed the last few he’s done - but he is utterly ridiculous in his mannerisms. You know why; it’s the same reason everyone kept smiling when Namjoon refused all of the food he was offered, why Seokjin would crack a terrible joke whenever it got too quiet for too long, why everyone is resolutely ignoring the growing pile of tissues on the table. 

It keeps a smile on Namjoon’s face, though, and a laugh in his eyes, and you can’t ever be anything but grateful for that. 

Hoseok stumbles, nearly falling and whirling his arms to catch himself before eventually falling anyway. You laugh along with the others, grinning at the way Hobi pouts and rubs at his hip. You’re focused on the way Joon laughs, the way it lights up his face and brightens the entire room, which is why you see it first. 

The tickle at the back of his throat quickly becomes a cough, wet and wheezing and enough to make him throw the blankets from his lap and stumble to the bathroom. 

You’re there before he is, helping him slide the door closed and locking it behind him as he bends over the toilet again. The six of them are quiet in the main room, speaking in hushed whispers that neither you nor Namjoon wants to hear. You turn the knob on the sink, wetting a towel while you drown out the sound of voices, and letting a hand run over Namjoon’s back. 

“I’m okay,” he mutters. You ignore the way his voice shakes, the way his lips are redder than before, the way this happens more often than before. Instead, you just press the damp rag to his neck and watch his eyes close in relief. When he stands and flushes the evidence away, you already have his toothbrush ready and waiting, and you stay as close to him as you can until he takes a deep breath. 

“I’m okay,” He repeats. “I’m okay. It’s my birthday, and I’m okay.” 

He goes back out with a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice, teasing Hoseok about the way he fell and reenacting it, even. When he settles on the couch, he urges the others to continue the game. There’s a brief moment of hesitation before Jimin declares that he’s next and pulls something from the bowl on the table. 

You know you aren’t the only one that notices the way Namjoon’s eyes linger on the six men around him, but you are the only one that notices the way they also linger on his steamer trunk, the shelf with his books, the TV, the record player, the scrapbook of his life that they all worked on and Taehyung pieced together over the months, the plants on the wall that he had cared for. He looks around his apartment as if he’s looking at it for the last time. 

As if he’s already planning who’s going to get what. 

He finally asks the question you both have been thinking about, nearly two months later. His breathing comes in ragged pants, his lips stay chapped, and he keeps several blankets around him at all times to try to hide the shaking of his body. Your soft sobs echo through the apartment constantly; while you reheat the tea he doesn’t drink for the millionth time, while you quietly water and prune the plants he’s saved from death the way you wish you could save him, while you sit curled around him as he sleeps, soothing his coughs with quiet whispers. 

Night has just begun to fall, the rain of the day turning into a soft drizzle, and you stare at him blankly, unsure how to process what you’ve just heard. 

“Do you think I’ll come back?” He asks again, slightly louder. As if you hadn’t heard his shaky voice the first time. It’s not the question that floors you. You’ve been expecting this for weeks, months even. You’ve wondered it yourself as you prepare tea and ignore the sounds of him vomiting blood in the bathroom, as he disappears to the hospital and returns with a worse prognosis than before, as you’ve adjusted to the idea that you are dead and he is dying and you cannot do anything to help him. 

You never would have expected the hope that his words carry though. 

“Why does it sound like you want to?” You ask. Your voice is clear in the air and you’re glad for it, because this isn’t something you want to talk about through your board. 

“Because I do?” His response is delayed and sounds more like a question than a real answer. 

“Why?!” You demand. 

“Are you serious, Casper?” His brow is furrowed as he sits up and lets the blankets fall away to sit haphazardly off the couch. 

“Are you? Joon, why would you want to come back?”

“You’re seriously asking me that question? Why would I not? I’ve got so much I still want to do, I never thought I’d get the chance to after I got the diagnosis and now I might be able to. Why wouldn’t I want that?”

“Because it doesn’t work like that! You don’t get to just wander the world and fuck around, Joon, you’re dead.”

“Yeah, but you can still read and write and everything. I’d have all the time in the world to read the books I want to read, watch the shows I want to watch, write the music and stories and lyrics that I want to write.”

“Yeah, so long as it all stays in this apartment!” The light in the room flickers slightly with the force of your irritation. “You can’t do anything that isn’t in this room, Namjoon, you can’t use any of the electronics, you can’t read a book unless it’s here, you can’t write music unless it’s on actual paper, you can’t do anything.” 

“Yeah, and I could make that work. Why are you so upset about this? I thought you’d be happy.”

“Happy? You think I’d be happy that you’d be stuck in these four walls forever, too? Why would that make me happy?” Namjoon stands, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. 

“Because I’d be with you! We’d be together, forever! Do you not want to be with me?”

“Of course I want to be with you, Joon, but not at the cost of you being stuck here. I don’t want that for anyone, certainly not the man I love.”

“And what if that’s what I want? What if I want to spend the rest of time with you? I’m already spending the rest of my life with you, I’m in love with you, I don’t want to leave you.”

“And I don’t want you to go, but Joon, why would I want you stuck here, too? This isn’t something fun. This isn’t anything that I enjoy.”

“Oh, so you regret it all then?”

“I didn’t say that, I just don’t want you to be stuck in a shitty studio apartment for who knows how long when you can’t fucking do half of the things you love! You wouldn’t go on walks, Namjoon, you wouldn’t go with Guk and Jimin to the movies, you wouldn’t get visits from Hobi, you wouldn’t get to shop with Taehyung or Jin, you wouldn’t get to drag Yoongi away from his thesis or celebrate with them when he finishes it! It’s not like being alive, Namjoon, you’d be dead and alone and in hell!”

“Whatever,” He mutters, shoving his arms into his coat. “Why can’t you understand for one fucking second that it wouldn’t be like that with you? I’d rather be stuck here forever than have to die in some shitty apartment and not even be able to touch the person I love.”

“Why can’t you understand that it’s still death? You’d be dead, Joon, your friends would go to your funeral and disappear from your life, and you’d be stuck staring out that window at that shitty alley for the rest of time. You don’t get it, you don’t how terrible it is to be stuck here and watch life pass you by.”

“Then why the fuck are you still here?” He asks. The door slams behind him before you can answer him, and your scream shakes everything in the room. You just barely catch one of the plants in the kitchen, a brown-potted one with ‘Shooky’ scrawled in Yoongi’s familiar handwriting, before it crashes to the ground. You return it to its place gently and huff another frustrated groan. 

You wish you could explain it better, but you know he wouldn’t get it even if you could. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be trapped between four walls and unable to do anything without massive amounts of effort. And he won’t, not unless he experiences it himself. 

You’ve already watched him wither away. You’ve watched him become thin and sallow and a shadow of the Namjoon who first moved in, and you don’t know what you would do if he came back. You wouldn’t be alone anymore, of course, and you’d have him here with you, but at what cost? Namjoon was built for cherry blossoms and sunshine and the riverside. He would hate being trapped here even more than you do.

Still, you could have been more understanding of his view. You can admit that even being stuck in a shitty apartment wasn’t so terrible when you had Namjoon there to make you laugh or watch TV or read to you. It may even get better if he turned into a ghost; maybe you could hold his hands in yours, could feel him wrap his arms around you, could press kisses to his skin again. 

You move to the window and stand there waiting. It’s not good for him to be out, even if the rain had stopped a few days ago and the forecasters promised it was the end of the downpours. He was still weak, you’d be surprised he even went anywhere to begin with but you know he likes to walk to calm himself down. 

You worry for what feels like hours. You can’t focus on anything, not the way the sun starts to set, not the sound of cars passing or the neighbor leaving. You’ve worked yourself into knots by the time you hear his whistle echo up through the streets, nearly lost in the sound of some argument in the alley below you. You catch a brief view of his coat and smile when you see that he’s got some half-dead plant tucked under an arm. There’s the briefest glimpse of what looks like a Ca scrawled onto it, and your heart jumps in your throat.

You make your way to the stove, turning the heat up slightly too high so that it’ll be ready when he comes in. The arguing outside gets louder but you pay it no mind, pulling the honey out and setting it next to his favorite mug. You’re reaching for the tea when you hear something else. It definitely sounds like Namjoon’s voice, but it’s not in the hall or at the door like usual. It’s raised, like he’s yelling at someone, like it was just a while ago when he was fighting with you. A crash startles you and before you can even reach the window to see what’s going on, there’s a deafening bang. 

You slam your fist against the window, watch the red mix with dirt, and the kettle isn't that only thing that screams. 

“I think that’s the last of it,” Jeongguk says. His voice is scratchy and quiet, but it’s deafening in the silence of the apartment. 

“Yeah,” Hoseok replies. His eyes are rimmed with red and his hands shake as he slides the last mug into a box. “Thanks for the help, Guk. I don’t, um.” He sniffles. “I don’t think I could’ve done it myself, y’know?” 

“I know,” Jeongguk agrees. They’re quiet again, adjusting the things they’ve boxed and avoiding finishing what they’re doing. 

“Oh, can you get that?” You don’t have to look to know what Hoseok is talking about. Jeongguk grunts an affirmation and makes his way over. It’s a strange feeling, having someone pass through you again for the first time since. His hands fly into the air as he tries to lift, clearly not having expected it to weigh anything. 

His reflection in the window frowns, and he tries again, tugging on the pot. 

“I can’t get it,” He says. “Do you think he glued these things down or something?” 

“No,” Hoseok replies as he wanders over as well. “He used to pick them up to re-pot them, remember? And the others came up with no problem.” 

“Well it’s stuck or something, you try.”

Hobi takes Jeongguk’s place and pulls hard at the plot, but your grip doesn’t waver. He huffs and disappears. When he returns, he’s got a butter knife in one hand that he does his best to slip under the pot. He tries hard to pry it up, so hard that you almost want to give in. You don’t though. 

The knife clatters to the floor with as much force as Hoseok can put behind it, a curse following quickly behind it. 

“Fuck it,” Hoseok says. His voice is shaky and you know he’s near tears again. “Just fuck it.” 

“But that was-”

“You can try if you want, Guk, but I just-” He chokes back a sob, shaking his head and moving to pick up the boxes he’d set down. “I just can’t, okay?” He disappears out the door in a hurry, and you wish you could follow after him. 

Jeongguk looks down at the small plant, with its painted periwinkle pot and soft leaves. He runs a quivering finger over the leaf and sniffles. He doesn’t try to lift it again, just stands and lets his tear soak into the soil.

“I wish you could come back to us,” He whispers. “We thought...we expected more time. It’s not...it’s not really fair, y’know? So if you can hear me, if you can come back to us, please do. Please.” 

He turns and leaves, the apartment door slamming behind him like the lid of a casket. Your grip on Mang loosens now that you know no one’s going to try to take it. You’d watched them pack everything else up; you’d let them take the steamer trunk full of records, the shelf full of books and movies, the collection of mugs, the soft blankets, the ratty couch, the rest of the plants he’d cared for so tenderly. 

Piece by piece they had packed Namjoon up and walked him out of the apartment, but this was the one piece they couldn’t have. This was his favorite and none of them knew how to care for it like you did, and you had to. You owed it to him. He deserved to come back to at least one familiar thing, never mind that you woke up not even a day later and it’s now been weeks. If there was one thing you wanted him to see when he got back, it was his favorite of his plants. 

The sun glares into your eyes from where it shines down on the city. It reflects off something in the window from across the alley, would be blinding if you actually had eyes. You pay it no mind, focused instead on the remains of the broken brown pot down in the alley, the way you’ve pieced them together in your head a thousand times just to trace the word Casper with your eyes. You can almost hear his voice saying it, even now.

You whip around, eyes darting through the empty space of the apartment as your hands tighten around Mang.

All that rests there is empty space, mocking in its loneliness. You remember when he moved in, remember how it felt to test the boundaries of the apartment and wish you were free. The want is still there, to leave and never think of it again, never think of him. You know better, though. You could never escape the memory of him, the way he laughed and smiled and spoke. You could never abandon Mang. Not when he said he’d always come back to you. 

You turn back to the window, cursing the sunlight with every other breath. It fades, slowly, into the black of night, before returning again, and again, and again. Days pass, each one feeling like years. Hoseok doesn’t appear to show the apartment, no one comes to collect the small periwinkle pot between your palms, and the ghost of his laugh echoes around you. 

The sun blinds you again. You don’t even know how long it’s been, just that you’ve yet to move. Light glints off whatever hangs in the window across the alley. That's when you see it, a vague reflection in the weathered glass of a dimple and a grin, and warmth surrounds you.

“I told you I’d always come back, Casper.”

#namjoon fanfiction #rm fanfiction #bts fanfiction #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #rm smut #reader insert #rm angst #rm x reader #namjoon fanfic #rm fanfic #bts fanfic #love yourself collab #ghost reader #clumsy namjoon #unspecified gender reader #bts angst #major character death #fic: forever rain #ddaenggtan

[usemeasabadexample]

Bechloe Fic: The Kraken Has Been Unleashed

Summary: Chloe has a way with her. That’s for sure. And, as uncomfortable as it might make her to think about it in this very moment, Beca’s starting to wonder just what that really means.

Set at the beginning of Pitch Perfect 2. Kind of canon, kind of...not canon. Mostly fluff and fun and maybe some very mild angst at best. Nothing too stressful. We’ve been through enough of that!

Read on AO3

Chapter 10

Beca's alarm wakes her up way too early the next morning.

Usually, she'd snooze the clock ten times, roll out of bed and barely have time to brush her teeth before running to class. This morning is different though. It's the first day of her internship and she wants to be prepared.  Wants to look professional. And she's pretty sure professional doesn't include a messy bun with sweatpants and one of Chloe's Barden t-shirts.

So she gets up early. Showers and puts on something nice before grabbing a bowl of cereal.

“You look hot this morning DJ. What's up?” Stacie ambles into the kitchen and gestures to Beca's outfit while opening up the refrigerator.

Beca looks up from her breakfast. “Hey Stace.” She swallows the bite she just shoved into her mouth. “Nothing. Just...won't have time to change before the party later.” The stool screeches across the floor as she stands and drops her bowl into the sink. “See you tonight.” She grabs her things and rushes out before Stacie can ask anymore questions. Stacie can sniff out a lie from a mile away so the last thing she needs to do is play a game of 20 questions with the house genius.

“Can’t wait!” Stacie calls out as Beca hustles out of the door to get to her first class on time, excited for what the day holds.

-----

Jesse’s car is rounding the corner as Beca walks away from her last class so she picks up speed. She doesn’t trust him. He has a knack for embarrassing her in public places. Not maliciously. Just...dorky.  

“Hey superstar!” Jesse shouts out of the car window as he screeches to a halt. He leans over the center console to sling the passenger door open for Beca. “Damn! Work it Bec!”

Beca practically sprints the rest of the way to the car. “Oh my god.” She jumps in and slams the door, frantically trying to roll up the window. “Please shut up.”

Jesse laughs. “Is that any way to talk to your chauffeur for the day?”

“Keep it up and it’ll only get worse.” Beca side eyes him and adjusts the radio.

Jesse always plays late fifties pop songs and while Beca appreciates all types of music, she can't sit there and listen to it for extended periods. Although it does give her ideas for new mixes. Chloe always loves it when she mashes up old school songs with new stuff. Her thoughts stay trained on her best friend and she wonders what Chloe is up to. Between the rush of getting ready and trying not to freak out, there just wasn't time to see her this morning.

That's her excuse anyway.

If she's being honest, avoidance tactics may have been at work. She feels like absolute shit for keeping the internship from the redhead but she doesn't know how to broach the subject. Under normal circumstances, she knows she would be excited to tell Chloe. But there's a lot at stake for the Bellas right now and she doesn't want to add anything else to the older woman's plate. She wants Chloe to know that she's there and she's present and she's going to fight for them because letting Chloe down would be the worst feeling in the world.

Jesse's small talk forces her to dismiss the thought. They talk about classes and auditions and their last hood night party the Trebles are hosting later tonight and before she knows it, they’re pulling up to the Residual Heat Recording Studio.  

Her nerves bubble up again.

She's excited and hopeful but she still has the weight of guilt lingering in the back of her mind. Jesse reassures her that everything will be okay. He reminds her that she's worked hard for this opportunity and she deserves this shot.

She gives him a quick kiss before running away while he continues to holler out more embarrassing comments. He's definitely a nerd but he knows her well. His goofy antics have calmed her down considerably and she takes a moment to appreciate his charm before charging ahead.

-----

The afternoon is a blur.

She fucks up her name tag picture, makes a shit ton of coffee and hands out a lot of snacks. She's nobody important here but that's not the point. There's a lot to be learned. A lot to be gained. This is her shot. It's her first step into the world of music production and she's looking forward to paying her dues.

In a bizarre series of events, her boss unexpectedly storms into the office and announces they'll be producing a new Christmas album for Snoop Dogg. The Snoop Dogg. It's crazy but she stifles her excitement. She doesn't want to be labeled as some psycho newbie on her first day but relaxing isn't easy. Between draining her brain for a quick idea on how to make Snoop's new album original and the exchanges happening between this Dax kid and her boss, she’s struggling to control her reactions. Her facial expressions always give her away and the one she's wearing right now screams absolute confusion because Dax is now high-kneeing around the room and this is all really fucking weird.

Thankfully, her phone buzzes and it gives her a reason to look away from the train wreck happening in front of her. She has four messages, none of which she noticed earlier. They’re from Jesse, Amy, and Chloe respectively.

She opens Jesse's message first. It's some idiotic, cheesy 'hope everything is going well’ message and she replies by calling him a dork. It seems like her go-to word when referring to him.

She hesitates before opening Amy's messages because she never knows what the blonde is going to say. It's almost always inappropriate and usually impossible to understand, but she opens it anyway.

Shorty! Where is our toothbrush?!

Yep.

What the fuck does Amy mean by our toothbrush? Beca refuses to believe the obvious. That Amy is implying (more like directly stating) that they use the same toothbrush. That just cannot be right. And even if it is, why would it be missing?

She makes a mental note to buy a new one immediately.

Maybe two.

The second message is almost just as cringeworthy.

Your acawife was asking where you were! You're gonna be in the dingo house tonight!

The urge to roll her eyes is too strong to avoid so she rolls them around before deciding she will not be messaging Amy back. She clicks Chloe's message instead. It's the most recent one.

Trip to Copenhagen is all booked! AHH! :-P

Beca chuckles to herself. She can hear Chloe's voice singing the message in her head. It's cute but it also makes her feel bad because they haven't even discussed the issue of Worlds and Beca promised she would be there for Chloe.  Yet, here she is. At an internship that she still hasn't told Chloe about while the redhead sits at home and plans alone all afternoon. She knows she's going to have to address all of this at some point but how? This isn't really her area of expertise.

Another message comes through.

It's Chloe again.

You okay? Haven't heard from you today! :-(

Ouch.

Beca wonders why she acts like such a dick sometimes. There doesn’t seem to be any logical excuse. Especially when it comes to Chloe. She's the last person on Earth Beca wants to disappoint but it seems like it's destined to happen.

She takes a deep breath and types out a reply.

Sorry Chlo! Busy day. I'll see you at the Trebles’ later!

It's vague and lame but she can't tell the truth and she doesn’t want to outright lie to Chloe so she hits send and shoves her phone back into her pocket as her boss storms back into the room. She straightens in her seat and tries to blend in for the rest of the day.

-----

Beca exits the studio, overwhelmed and stressed, and throws her bag into the back seat of a cab before jumping in and giving the driver directions to the Bellas’ house.

She leans back and takes a deep breath that vibrates her through her lips on the way out. She knew this business would be cut-throat but wow . Today proved how messed up the music industry really is. The people are self-serving and the pace is incredibly fast and it feels like the multi-tasking skills needed to get through each minute are nearly impossible to master.

She’ll get through it though. She has to. This is her shot to get out there and start making a name for herself. This is her dream.

Plus, she’s glad to have the first day out of the way. It can only get easier from here.

Hopefully.

Possibly.

Who knows.

She shakes it off and pulls her phone out of her pocket. She hasn’t had a chance to check it since she messaged Chloe back earlier. Sure enough, there are a few new messages from her best friend. Chloe has no qualms about sending Beca multiple texts in a row. Even when Beca doesn’t answer right away, Chloe will continue babbling without worrying about whether or not she's being annoying.

If it were anyone else, Beca would probably send a string of expletives and permanently block their number. But, like everything else, Chloe is the exception. She smiles and opens their text thread.

Okay! Can't wait! XO

I hope they have the green punch!

Please bust out the cell phone dance move! I love it!!! ;-)

So, a Legacy showed up to our door tonight to audition and we accepted! She's totes amazing and you're going to love her!

I don't think we are breaking the rules bc she came to us! Loophole! :-D

BTW, Legacy means that her mom was a Bella. Her mom is THE Katherine Junk! Omg!

Beca chuckles at the enthusiasm in the messages and pictures Chloe grinning excitedly as she wrote them. A wave of anticipation hits her and she’s overwhelmed with the sudden need to get home as quickly as possible. She tells herself that she’s just anxious to get home after a long day but she knows that's a lie. Before reading those texts, she was tired. Even considered not showing up to the party but there’s a new energy flowing through her and she wills the cab driver to hurry the fuck up already.

When she finally makes it home, she throws her bag down, uses the bathroom, and races through the bushes to the Trebles’ house.

-----

Beca approaches the party, surprised at how out of control things seem already. It's still pretty early but the acapella crowd clearly came to party tonight. She wonders what type of trouble the Bellas are getting into and smiles thinking about all of their past Hood Nights. They've had some wild ones and she's sure this last one will be no different. Especially if Chloe has anything to do with it.

Chloe has a way of making Hood Nights, and most parties in general, more fun than they probably should be. Some of them, in particular, stand out for reasons that Beca isn’t prepared to think about right now. Mainly because they involve Chloe getting way too handsy.

But she already said she’s not thinking about that and scans the crowd for red hair instead.

Oddly enough, she can’t quickly spot her best friend but she spies Jesse sitting up on the deck. And because the night has her feeling light and giddy, she creeps up behind him and grabs him by the shoulders before giving him a quick peck on the lips.

His drink almost slips out of his hands and Beca mutters a quick “oh shit” before dropping down next to him. She takes a deep breath, ready to de-stress after such a crazy day, but Jesse starts asking about the internship and about Chloe and damnit.

“Oh, she’s just..she’s like, locked into the World’s right now and I’m looking for the right time. It’s-- I’ll tell her.” Beca tries to shrug it off like it’s no big deal but it dampens her mood and she excuses herself to grab a drink at the tiki hut. Why did Jesse have to bring up Chloe and the internship in the same sentence? Beca already feels like the absolute worst person in the world and the thought of Chloe having to ask Jesse for her whereabouts just makes it even worse.

This sucks.

Beca takes a huge gulp of whatever concoction is being served tonight and notes that it’s not the green punch that Chloe was hoping for but she can't dwell on it because she notices there’s a really tall girl just standing there staring at her. The girl's arms are stretched out towards Beca and she has no idea what’s about to happen.

“Hi!”

“Hi…” Beca responds hesitantly, still completely unsure.

The taller woman rambles something about being sisters and then it clicks for Beca. She realizes this is the girl- correction- the Legacy, that’s been added to their team.

“Oh yeah! Hi. Chloe texted me that we added a Legacy. I...didn't even know that was a thing.” She lifts her shoulders and gestures with her hands as she speaks. It feels odd.

The girl giggles and keeps staring at Beca so Beca just chuckles uncomfortably and takes another sip.

Then another.

And they're both just sort of standing there awkwardly.

Beca gives a tense smile and widens her eyes, which finally seems to break the other girl’s manic look.

She slaps her hands to her forehead way too hard. “Ouch! Oh my god. I’m sorry! I'm Emily. By the way. Sorry. I forgot that you didn’t know my name yet and I think the others have already started calling me Legacy so it’s totally okay if you want to call me that too I just figured you should know my real name because I totally-”

Beca reaches out and briefly touches Emily’s arm to stop her rambling. “Emily.” She pulls her hand away. “Nice to meet you.”

Emily beams and Beca really wants to get as far away from this interaction as possible.  

“We can get to know each other better later. Right now…” Beca uses her head to gesture across the yard where she can see a few of the Bellas bouncing up and down. “Let’s go catch up with everyone else.”

“Oh!” Emily nods rapidly and Beca thinks she looks like a battery operated bobble-head. “Yeah, definitely! Let’s go!”

Beca nods once before taking a shot and refilling her cup as Emily follows her into the crowd.

-----

“Beca!” Amy is the first person she encounters.

Of course.

She is immediately picked up and twirled around by the blonde. “Where have you been? Oh my god! Have you gotten taller? No! That’s not possible!”

“Amy!” Beca kicks her legs and starts to protest the manhandling but she sees a flash of red hair as she’s being spun around and the words die on her lips.

She starts laughing because jesus christ. It’s been a long day and it feels like she’s been waiting to see that red hair for way too long now. She presses on Amy’s shoulders and frantically wrestles herself out of the tight grip, almost toppling them both over in the process. Amy strings together a few choice expletives and she can hear Stacie muttering something inappropriate but it doesn't stop her.

She bounces right up to her best friend with a smile so wide she thinks her head might explode. “Chlo!”

Chloe’s head whips around and when her eyes land on Beca, her face actually does explode into a display of pure joy. She reaches out and grabs Beca, hooking her arm firmly around the shorter woman’s shoulders to drag her in close.

Chloe's laugh echoes in Beca’s ear and Beca can’t stop her smile from growing impossibly wider as she wraps her arms around the redhead’s waist as best as she can and squeezes back. The scent of fresh laundry and liquor invades her senses and it’s all a little overwhelming but it feels good and she can't help but sink further into it. She lets her body sway back and forth with Chloe's as she breathes her in. Exhilaration and borderline manic happiness taking over in the moment.

“Beca!” Chloe pulls back but keeps her arm firmly around Beca’s shoulder. “Where did you come from!? Where have you been!?” Chloe’s mouth is wide open and the way her eyes are bubbling with excitement reminds Beca of a shaken soda bottle. The look is scary powerful and Beca can’t find it in herself to formulate a response so she just laughs like crazy and brings her cup up from around Chloe's waist to clink it to redhead’s before taking another sip.

Chloe’s eyes stay trained on her as she downs the drink and it makes Beca feel like a shot of Red Bull has been directly injected into her veins. It travels through her entire body with lightning speed and everything inside of her buzzes to life.  She crushes the cup in her hand as she continues to drink, eventually cracking it. Remnants of the liquid leak down her arm but she keeps chugging. The atmosphere and the energy of the party has her head spinning and she just wants to let loose. Have fun.

She’s buying time too. Chloe’s presence is taking her to another level of excitement and she doesn’t know how to quite contain it at the moment. It feels like the cup is the only thing anchoring her to sanity at the moment.  

“Beca!” Chloe swats the crushed cup straight out of Beca’s hand, the last few drops splashing out when it hits the ground and Beca’s eyes widen but she doesn’t move. Her arm stays frozen in the air, invisible cup still in hand. Mouth still open.

And Chloe smiles.

It’s that mischievous, self-satisfied smile. The same one she used after their shower duet so many years ago.

Beca won't forget that look.  It makes her shiver but she smiles back, hand coming back down to squeeze Chloe around the middle again. "You're going to get into trouble tonight." Beca tuts, pretending to be put-off, "I can feel it."

Chloe nods enthusiastically, apparently thrilled by the notion, and moves both hands to Beca's shoulders. It brings the two of them face-to-face and she leans in to speak directly into Beca’s ear. "And you are already in trouble for getting here so late."

Beca’s chest tightens as Chloe pulls back to lock eyes but she keeps herself together. "Is that right?"

"Mhmm." Chloe is still nodding, all breezy happiness and cool confidence.  

"Well," Beca shrugs, doing her best to appear nonchalant, "what are you gonna do about it?"

Chloe drapes her arms further around Beca’s shoulders, big blinking eyes boring into Beca, “I’m going to dance with you."

Beca’s hands involuntarily squeeze the redhead tighter, fingers eventually pressing into Chloe hard enough that she’s afraid she might leave a mark. She panics momentarily, not wanting to hurt her best friend, but then Chloe’s laugh cuts through the party noise and the redhead is dragging her through a crowd of people back towards familiar faces that instantly start shouting when they see the duo approaching.

“Beca!”

“Chloe!”

“Bloe!”

“What’s up bitches?!”

“Where were you guys!?”

Beca dodges Amy’s swinging arms as Chloe continues to pull her into the circle of Bellas but all of her ducking and dodging distracts her right into Stacie’s waiting hands.

“DJ!” Stacie shouts, squishing Beca’s cheeks and before Beca can react, Stacie starts moving in with puckered lips. There’s nothing Beca can do because one of her hands is still wrapped up in Chloe’s and the other is no match for Stacie’s strength so she braces for the onslaught coming her way, eyes shut and lips sucked in.

But it never comes.

Instead of sloppy Stacie kisses, Beca feels herself being pulled out of the taller woman’s grasp. She sees a flash of red and green and her favorite smile and she lets herself collide with the person reining her in. Hands squish her cheeks again but this time, she doesn’t even consider trying to fight them off. Instead, she wraps her arms around Chloe and returns the smile, letting everything around her disappear because Chloe leans in and peppers her face with kisses that match the beat of the song and the thump of her heart.

It makes Beca feel giddy.

Goofy.

Like she’s already had too much to drink but she knows that can’t be.

And really, in the moment, Beca honestly doesn't care what the reason is.

What the feeling is.

All she knows is that Chloe is here and everything feels perfect so she grabs on tighter and pulls Chloe in closer. Squeezing and laughing like a crazy person.

"You're insane! You know that, right?!" She's borderline shouting to be heard over the music.

Chloe pulls back just long enough to look directly at Beca. Eyes dancing and hands squeezing Beca's shoulders tightly. She mutters a quick, "mhmm" and leans in again, bright blue eyes crossing briefly as they come nose-to-nose.

It makes Beca chuckle.

"I know." Chloe mumbles the words and kisses the tip of Beca's nose.

Beca takes a deep breath and lets the tingling feeling take over as the beat drops and she falls into step with Chloe.

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