#i put all her things in the garage to be sorted out when i’m less upset. apart from her collar and her blankets

[gingerbreadmonsters]

something strange

or: who you gonna call?

gn!reader, warnings for mild innuendo and discussion of death, halloween hijinks except it’s literally spring, oopsie. hello, operator? there’s something weird, and it - well, it’s not looking great… it’s time for yet another weirdo DAMN crew AU! cheers as always to agent of the google docs surveillance state @zozo-01 who keeps figuring out when i’m working on this at 4am, and to all the gang on discord who have tolerated the frankly disturbingly-morbid questions that it’s prompted. please keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle - don't worry, we'll reattach those for you at the end of the ride. dear having a dose of a freaky ghost (or five) in just over 13,600 words.

Every day's a school day, or so you're told.

For most people, that's more of a figurative thing. For you, you've been going to school basically non-stop since you were three years old or something, so it's pretty literal.

It's not necessarily a bad thing, you suppose. Teaching at DAMN is pretty good, the faculty and students are nice enough, and it pays… well, it pays. More than your last job, though that's not really saying much, and enough to afford the mortgage on this new house you've moved into.

It’s weird. You’d heard nothing but terrible things about the housing market in California lately, and Dahlia was no exception - it still isn’t, if you’re honest. Rent is extortionate, but even that barely matters when there’s hardly anything available in the first place.

You'd been so surprised when you'd seen it online. A proper, two-bedroom detached house, with a garden and a garage and everything, going for a lot less than the - admittedly-few - other houses nearby. How had nobody snapped it up already? Pleasantly surprised, you'd called the estate agent to see about putting in an offer, and you'd barely been able to get the words out before she'd set you up with an appointment the next day.

She'd been… cagey, is probably the best way to put it. Reluctant to tell you why it was so cheap. She couldn't stall forever, though - you remember the resigned, slightly apologetic look on her face as she took a deep breath, before plastering on a grin and telling you what was going on.

Now then, she'd said. I know it's unpleasant, but I'm required by law to disclose to you that, within the last three years, a number of previous tenants sadly passed away on the property.

You’d certainly been surprised, but she’d clearly just wanted to get this conversation over with, and just breezed on. As far as we understand, none of the tenants were affiliated with each other, and only two of the deaths were directly caused by an issue with the property - some minor faulty wiring, and one of the older sections of the roof was damaged during a storm and collapsed unexpectedly. It’s since been repaired, though, so no need to worry!

Somehow, the worst part about that sentence wasn’t the news that someone had been crushed to death in the house you were trying to buy, but was instead the cheery smile with which she delivered the news, like she thought you’d be delighted. Are all real estate agents in California like this?

How many, exactly? Were there any before that? you’d asked, and she hadn’t quite been able to hide her grimace. And how did they die? Should I be concerned about the local area?

Unfortunately for her, you’d been reading up on the sorts of laws that estate agents like her have to follow in California. No matter what, they have to tell you if anyone died in the house in the last three years - but if you ask for more information about it, or about any other deaths from before then, they’re legally required to tell you the truth about that as well.

Well, I don’t mean to alarm you… Nervously, she’d clicked away on her computer for a few minutes, before turning back to you. The four tenants before you all passed away on the property - not under suspicious circumstances, of course. Just… you know. These things happen.

Yes, you’d said flatly. Obviously.

Three out of the four were accidental - one was the result of a fall, one was the aforementioned issue with the roof, and I believe the other was due to an electrical fault. The fourth was the most recent - an altercation with an intruder during a break-in - but we’ve been assured by the local police department that this sort of thing is highly unusual for the area, and is very unlikely to happen again.

As she spoke, you’d felt a horrible feeling of resignation settle in your stomach. Of course the one place you can actually afford to buy is the one where tenants keep dying inexplicably.

How old were they, would you say?

Some more clicking, and if her expression had been anything to go by, a spreadsheet that was loading a lot slower than it should. It looks like… yeah, it looks like most were in their mid-twenties, or thereabouts.

Perfect. Of course they were. Were they living alone?

She’d clearly been dreading the question, gritted teeth forced into a smile. I believe so, yes. The implied like you will be hangs heavy in the air between you, and her eyes dart momentarily back to her screen before flicking back to yours.

Great. Everything about it had been great. A new city, a new job, living alone in a literal, actual death trap of a house. What could possibly go wrong?

Well then, you’d said, crossing your fingers behind your back. I have a good feeling about this.

For the first few weeks, things had been more or less normal - you’d been a little on edge, but nothing especially deadly had happened to you. No wardrobes falling on you, no rugs pulled out from underneath you, no invisible gas leaking into your lungs. In fact, it had been a perfectly ordinary house. If you were more suspicious, you might even say it was too ordinary. But that would be a silly thing to say, and you’re not, so you don’t.

Just a normal person, moving into a normal house. What could be simpler?

The start of term is a blur, and all too soon you’re so caught up in the semester that you barely have the energy to drag yourself upstairs to bed when you get home, let alone worry about anything else. Introducing yourself to your new coworkers, meeting your new classes, sorting through lesson plans and worksheets and your stupid fucking institutional login, being reset for the fifth time in as many days because apparently the IT department here is just as overworked and underpaid as anywhere else and if you have to go and beg them to reset your password again you’re going to-

Wait, it’s nearly the end of the semester already? What?

Finals season at DAMN is a particularly vicious mistress, it seems, and you've been going out of your mind trying to stay on top of all your work. One of the other Water Elemental professors went on maternity leave a month into the semester, so you've been forced to take over her class for the rest of the year - and you can safely say that you're never doing this again.

Twice as many lectures, twice as many emails, twice as much chasing students for late assignments. Right now, basically your whole day is taken up with running practicals, and your evenings are nothing but marking, marking, marking.

Yeah. That’s all that happens in the evenings. You don’t have time to think about anything else at all, nothing whatsoever, because there’s nothing else to think about.

You don’t think about the odd sounds from downstairs while you’re trying to sleep, muffled whispers of what could almost be conversation, echoing quietly in the hallway. You don’t think about the fact that you definitely turned the TV off before you left the house, and how it definitely wasn’t turned to the news when you did. You especially don’t think about how the plants in the garden never seem to need watering, or how the shelves never seem to get dusty, or how the curtains in the living room always seem to be open in the morning, even though you’re sure you closed them before you went to bed.

The doors that open and close on their own - well, it’s just a bit draughty, isn’t it? The strange chill in the air that seems to linger in certain places in the house, no matter how much you turn up the heating - well, all these old houses have their quirks, don’t they? That faint, blurry figure that you could have sworn you saw ducking past you in the mirror, disappearing so quickly that it can’t have really been there at all - and when you turn, there’s nothing behind you but air…

Condensation on the mirror before you’ve even had your shower, the sweet scent of a perfume you don’t wear. You’re going out of your mind.

You’ve started spending more time at work, waking up even earlier than before and going home even later. Organising lesson plans, sorting through papers, picking up extra invigilation, desperate to spend as long as you can at the university - anything, to get you out of that house. Practically the only thing you do at home now is sleep, and even that’s not for very long before you’re dashing out the door again in the morning. You’ll get breakfast on the way. Maybe if you’re not there as often, whatever it is will just… go away?

Only that doesn’t happen - if anything, it’s the complete opposite. The whole place feels strangely uneasy now, like the house itself is on edge, watching you. Something in the corner of your eye, the feeling of something breathing that surely shouldn’t be able to. Something tense and creeping in the air, stretching and stretching, ready to snap.

Fitful dreams, sleepless nights, keys jangling in your hand. Is it still paranoia if your house is really haunted?

It all comes to a head on - well, to be honest, you’re not so sure what day it is. Wednesday, maybe? Thursday? Whatever the case, you’ve been running on practically empty for longer than you should have been, and you’re really starting to feel it now.

Head pounding, you shut your eyes as you lean over the coffee maker. One for now, and one in your flask for later - oh, and you’ve run out of energy drinks in your office, so you’ll have to get a few out of the fridge to take with you.

Stressed at work, stressed at home, and barely sleeping in between. You’ve been forced to live on barely anything but coffee and energy drinks for almost a week now, just to keep yourself upright, and you think… um, you think it might be…

Fuck, your head is spinning. Just a minute, and you’ll be fine. It’s fine. Your laptop’s upstairs by your bed, so you’ve just got to grab that, and then you can be off to work. Just - just wait for the walls to stop moving, alright? You’ll only be a second…

The coffee’s slightly too hot as you gulp it down, and you hiss as it burns your tongue, scorching the inside of your mouth - something cold, you want something cold, make it stop it hurts it hurts - cracking, fizzing, oh, that’s nice, it’s cold, it’s cold - wait, what is it?

Oh, that’s bad. You look down at the half-empty can in your hand, lovely and cold from the fridge, condensation dripping slowly down the metal. Oops. That can’t be good for you.

Now that you’ve opened it, you might as well finish it. You won’t be able to carry an open can with you and it’ll go all weird if you just leave it out. What a waste!

Sip by sip, you gradually empty the can. Why does your stomach feel so weird? That’s not fun. Wasn’t there something you were supposed to remember…?

Laptop, you need to get your laptop. Upstairs. Right.

Well, if your heart explodes, your heart explodes. Giggling to yourself as you stumble past the front door and up the stairs, you imagine the look on that stupid estate agent’s face when she realises what’s happened - shit, they’ll have to put the price down even further, won’t they? That’ll be a hell of a hard sell. Yeah, they all died in mysterious accidents, all very strange and creepy, no idea how it happened - oh, except the last one. That one died of coffee disease when their blood turned into caffeine and their brain caught fire. Tragic.

It’s all fine. If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. Smiling, you grab your laptop case from the bedside table, ignoring the way your heart hammers against your ribs like it’s trying to fight its way out of you. Don't even think about it.

Don't think about the way you’re tripping over your own feet as you narrowly miss bumping into the bed, clinging to the doorframe to keep yourself upright. Don't think about the rushing, racing headache that's building in your skull as you drag yourself back down the corridor, that restless pressure in your chest that won't stop growing as you fumble for the bannister. Don't think about the dizzy, blurry world that shudders around you, the strange lightness in your mind as something gives way, the floor that suddenly isn't there beneath you-

STOP!

the horrible sound of your body as it falters and falls, the terrifying space under your feet where the stairs should be

I don't know, they just - I just - oh, God…

the aftertaste of adrenaline flooding through your blood, bitter and strange

Don't just fucking stand there!

as your heart chokes on its own frantic rhythm

Get out of - here, I can do it-

and there's somebody there

What are you even going to do?

and the world goes black

Don't ask.

and everything

disappears.

You don’t wake up for a while.

Shit, your head hurts.

Slowly, you start to feel something on your face, something cold and hard that’s pressing uncomfortably against your cheek. What is that?

You reach up, and - oh. It’s the floor.

Still too lightheaded to sit up, you gradually come back to consciousness in fits and starts, lazy thoughts swimming through your heavy head. You’re lying in the corridor on your side, staring at the skirting board - which is looking a bit grubby, now that you really look at it - and your laptop case is on the floor by the bedroom door a few feet away. The zip is open, and you can see about half of the actual laptop peeking out.

Thankfully, it looks okay. You’re not sure you could deal with having to buy a new one right now, especially with all the work you’ve got to-

Panicked, you jolt upright, one hand coming up to clutch at your skull as it feels like it’s on fire. You’ve got work!

Wait, what’s the time - how late are you? God, you really couldn’t have picked a worse time to fall down the fucking stairs, could you? You’ll have to call the office and tell them what’s happened, that you’re so, so, sorry, that if they can just get someone to cover your second period lecture you should be in by then…

Hold on.

Confused, you look down. Yeah, that’s what you thought - you’re sitting on the floor, sprawled out in the hallway and facing the wall. There’s nothing around you except your laptop case, and your bedroom door is open.

This isn’t right. How are you looking at your upstairs bedroom door, when you’re sure you fell down the stairs?

And that’s only the first thing - now that you really look, of course you’re not downstairs. The stairs go right down by the front door, but there are no shoes on the ground or coats hanging on the wall. Your laptop case must have been open when you dropped it, but the laptop itself is still inside - surely it would have fallen out when it slid down the stairs, or at least be in much worse shape than it is now?

You’re so confused by the whole thing that it doesn’t even occur to you that, besides the throbbing ache in your head, you’re not actually in any pain. Your heart has slowed back down to normal so you don’t feel quite so sick, and you can’t even feel any bruises or soreness from where you must have hit the ground. It’s as if you’d just… decided to lie down.

It doesn’t really matter, though, because you don’t notice it. You slowly pick yourself back up and stagger into your bedroom, reaching for the glass of water that sits on your bedside table, and the telltale fizzle of healing magic that was left on your tongue disappears without a trace.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. The ladies at the front office are very kind when you call to let them know you might be a bit late, but you hadn’t been unconscious for as long as you thought. You only end up missing half of the first period, after all, and even your headache gradually disappears over the course of the day.

The idea of going to the hospital does occur to you - you did lose consciousness, after all - but you decide against it. You feel fine, and it was probably just your body telling you to cut back on the caffeine for a little while. The winning combination of coffee and a can of whatever-it-was probably wasn’t the best idea on an empty stomach.

Ironically, if you had a student who this happened to, you’d probably have dragged them halfway to A&E yourself by now. Funny how that works, isn’t it?

Unfortunately, you can’t pretend that everything’s normal once you’ve finally arrived - your department head comes in at lunchtime to find you ankle deep in a pile of second-year practical write-ups, and all but kicks you out of your office so you can go home early and recover. For my sake, if anything, she says with a grin, although you know she’s only half-joking. Think of my reputation - I can’t let my newest lecturer spend more time here than I do, can I?

It’s certainly very kind of her, probably more so than you deserve, and before you know it you’ve been unceremoniously booted out of the building and onto the quad. Looks like it’s hometime, then.

The bus is warm, but not too crowded, so you’re lucky enough to get a seat by the window. There are worse things to do than watch the world go by on your way back home, and the nice view makes the trip go faster - in no time at all, you’re getting off again.

It’s so bizarre, going home in the middle of the day. Normally it’s long been dark by the time you get back, and everything looks so different in the light that you almost walk straight past your street entirely. Has the house on the opposite side of the road always had those flowers in the front garden? Or has it just always been too dark for you to notice them?

Fishing your keys out of your pocket, you have a horrible feeling that you don’t really know anything about this place. What really happens here in Dahlia? How much of it have you actually seen, that isn’t the inside of a university building?

Unsettled, you unlock the door and step inside, shutting the door behind you with a sigh. Home at last. You’ll have to-

I swear, if you-

Wait, was that the door?

Hold on. What was that sound…?

You listen for a second, but you can’t hear anything unusual. Huh. Must have been nothing.

In any case, now that you’re home, you’re really starting to feel that tiredness creeping in. With a sigh of relief, you toe your shoes off and leave them by the door, before sliding your bag off your shoulder and dropping your keys into th-

There’s no way. It’s, like, lunchtime or something, right?

Okay, this is really starting to get weird now. You could have sworn you heard someone, muffled and ever-so-quiet underneath the noise of your keys falling into the bowl that you normally keep them in.

Is there someone else here? There can’t be, surely. You peer around the hallway, looking for any sign that someone might have broken in, but you don’t see anything weird - although it’s not like you really know what you’d be looking for. The door was locked when you came in, and you know that when you left for work, all the windows were shut and the back door was locked too.

Besides, everyone said this part of the city was pretty safe, didn’t they?

(Okay, so the last tenant did die horribly when someone broke in a few months ago, but something, something, never strikes twice or whatever.)

Your aura flickers as you try to reach out and see if you can feel something there, but there’s nothing at all. No sign of anyone, empowered or otherwise, and nothing out of the ordinary happening with the ambient magic in the house.

To tell the truth, you’d been surprised at how strong it was when you moved in. At least one of the previous tenants must have been magical, and really powerful - this house is full of magic left behind, traces of a forgotten aura, echoing softly in the walls and floors. It happens to most places where empowered people live or work, so it’s not like you’re not used to it, but even so… wow. It’s very strong.

Gingerly, you creep across the hallway and nudge the door to the living room just slightly open, before holding your breath and peeking inside.

And… there’s nothing there.

Just your boring, ordinary living room.

You check all the other rooms just to make sure, but they’re exactly the same. Nothing out of place, everything just as you’d left it. Nothing missing, nothing moved, nothing weird at all. There’s no trace of an intruder, and you’re starting to feel a bit silly, really. Surely you’re just imagining things, right?

Well, that or you’re hearing voices. God, all that caffeine really has fucked you up.

Perhaps a nap might be in order, now that you think about it. Yeah, a nap would be good. You’re getting tired just thinking about it - falling asleep, not having to worry about anything, relaxing after all the bizarre things that have been happening to you today. It sounds wonderful.

Quickly, you change into your pyjamas and get into bed, getting a glass of water from the kitchen before you go upstairs - you briefly consider having a shower beforehand, but you’re too sleepy to bother. Your bed is warm and soft and quiet, and that’s what matters right now.

Oh, it’s so nice. No more headache, no more confusion. The duvet is thick and comfy as you pull it around you, and just like that, you’re asleep almost immediately.

While you’re sleeping, do you dream?

I don’t get it. Why come back so soon?

Maybe it’s a timetabling thing? For finals? Like, an exam got cancelled so they didn’t have to stay? But it really could be anything - it’s always a miserable time for everyone, even the staff, so who even knows what it was…

Yeah, that’s true.

Do you think it’ll be back to normal tomorrow?

We’ll just have to wait and see. Hopefully we don’t get another scare like earlier.

Oh my God, that was fucking terrifying… I thought I was going to have a heart attack! Again!

Is that what happened? I thought it - oh, yeah, I guess it sort of counts. But it’s not like anyone can see us, anyway, so it shouldn’t really matter.

Well… But, like, it’s still kind of stressful though, don’t you think?

A bit, I guess. But you could probably say we’ve had worse.

Yeah. Yeah, that’s fair enough.

…No, you probably don’t.

When you wake up, it’s nighttime, weak moonlight sneaking through the gap in the curtains and falling across the floor. Mm, it’s so nice and warm under the covers. What’s the time? Everything feels weird.

Blearily, you reach for your phone - it’s about eight o’clock. Shit. Has it really been that long? You’d only meant to be asleep for a few hours, not the whole rest of the day…

Ah, whatever. You must have needed it. And anyway, you can’t really be bothered to try and think about work now - whatever you were going to do, you’ll just deal with it tomorrow. Maybe you’ll go downstairs and have a little something for dinner, and then relax a bit more before going to bed properly.

You rub your eyes with one hand as you push yourself up to sitting, swinging your legs over the side of the bed with a groan. Getting up is the worst. The glass of water on your bedside table is nice, though, and you gulp down about half of it while you get used to being upright again.

…Is it just you, or can you hear something coming from the next room?

Nope, nope, you’re not doing this again - it was nothing last time, and it’s probably nothing again. You’re just a little bit on edge. Perfectly understandable. You’re going to get up and go out of your room, and walk over to the stairs. Then you’re going to go down the stairs, and go to the kitchen to make some dinner, and absolutely nothing strange is going to happen while you do it.

With that in mind, you stand up and walk towards the door with a lot more confidence than you feel, although it’s slightly undermined when you have to backtrack a few steps in because you forgot to pick up your phone. But with that in hand, you pull the bedroom door open and step out into the corridor, safe in the knowledge that everything is exactly as it should be-

“Ah!”

It’s not. Oh, fuck, it’s really, really not.

There’s a shadow in the corridor - your breath freezes as you see it, a paralysing chill slicing down your spine. Floorboards creaking quietly, the faintest sound of breathing. Something moving, just inside the doorway to the guest bedroom down the hall.

There’s someone else in the house.

The door is slightly open, letting you see just a tiny bit inside the room, and you stare in shock as you catch a glimpse of a definitely-there, definitely-real hand suddenly reaching out to grasp at the doorframe. Whoever it belongs to, the angle makes it look like they’re leaning against the wall - the hand trembles slightly as it clutches at the wood, clumsy and frantic, nails scratching at the paint.

Terrified, you’re frozen to the floor as the hand slips down a fraction, and the arm it’s attached to knocks the side of the door. The hinges creak faintly as the door slowly swings open, only to reveal-

“Mmm…”

Wait, what?

Okay, you realise that you screwed up with the whole caffeine thing earlier. And you’ve been running yourself ragged for weeks. And you just woke up from a nap. So all in all, you’re probably not operating at full capacity right now. But even so, even with all that going on, you have to admit that you really weren’t expecting to see a couple very enthusiastically making out against the wall of your guest bedroom.

The two of them are utterly lost in each other and totally ignoring you - in fact, it doesn’t even look like they’ve noticed you standing here at all. If your brain could stop bluescreening, you’d almost be offended.

The - um, demon? Is that really a demon? You’ve only ever seen a few from afar, mostly on campus, but the distinctive flavour of magic that soaks into your aura even from here is a dead giveaway - the demon presses himself against the human-looking one as he kisses them, horns knocking softly against the wall above their head as he leans over them. The human clings to his shoulders in return, and you watch as a hand that you now recognise slides down the demon’s chest to tug impatiently at the hem of his shirt.

They’re also both very, very hot. Woah.

(Look, it’s been a while, okay? And anyway, it’s just an observation. An idle, ordinary observation. It’s not your fault that they look… fuck, they look really good. Like, really good.)

The human sighs softly as the demon nudges their head to the side with the tip of his tail, kissing avidly across their jaw and down their throat. Are those fangs? Does he have fangs? Because it certainly looks like it from here - the human’s eyelids flutter as he nips sweetly at their skin, only for their gaze to fall on-

“Mm - mmm!” The human splutters as they finally notice you, eyes going wide and hands clutching frantically at the demon’s back as they try to nudge him away. Is it fear or surprise? “It - baby, baby, there - there’s s-”

“Yeah - mhm, I-”

The demon shushes them breathlessly, chasing their lips with a quiet whine, one arm locking tight around their middle to keep them close as his other hand cups the back of their head, presumably to protect them from hitting their head against the wall. “They can’t see, deviant, ‘s okay-”

“You - mm, fuck! - Gav, they’re right - they’re right there!”

Somewhat belatedly, you realise that you’ve just been kind of standing there and staring at these two - with a start, you stumble backwards a step and drop your gaze to the floorboards in embarrassment. Should you be embarrassed? You’re a little bit embarrassed.

(It’s kind of rude to stare at people who are making out. Although, it’s also kind of rude to break into someone else’s house and start making out against the wall while the owner of the house is trying to sleep in the next room, so maybe you’re even.)

You scramble hastily for words, half-formed syllables spilling out of your mouth, but you have no idea what to say - what can you say in a situation like this? How do you - what do you - where do you even begin?

Luckily, the demon speaks up before you can make too much of a fool of yourself - you notice that he’s stepped slightly in front of the human, tail coiling around their calf in a way that you can only describe as deeply, deliberately possessive. Does he think you’re going to… to do what? Hurt them?

“I suppose we ought to explain…?”

He sounds a bit surprised, which is unexpected, considering that this is the weirdest break-in on Earth, and also that this isn’t his house. Aren’t you the one who should be surprised?

“I think they’re in the living room,” says the human in a total non-sequitur, gently extricating themselves from the demon’s tail and backing away towards the end of the corridor. “I’ll go and get them.”

“No - no, we’ll come down,” the demon calls back to them as they disappear downstairs. “I think our new friend might want to sit down for this.”

You don’t really have a chance to protest, utterly lost in shock - numbly, you follow the demon as he beckons you over, with a smile that looks easy, but you’re sure it’s taking a lot more effort than he’d like.

“My name’s Gavin,” he says conversationally, gesturing towards the stairs. “Nice to meet you.”

He motions again towards the stairs, but you’re too dazed to really get what he means - with a good-natured sigh, he takes a step in front of you and starts walking backwards down the stairs, one hand drifting just slightly above the bannister as the other keeps urging you forwards. “And you might be…?”

Oh - oh, that’s what he wants! You wouldn’t say that the jumble of syllables that falls out of your mouth is exactly your name, but it’s close enough, and he nods in acquiescence.

“Well, then. Pleasure to finally meet you.”

There’s a funny sort of smile in his voice when he says that, but you can’t quite put your finger on what it might be. And anyway, what does he mean by finally?

The demon - Gavin, what a strange name for a demon, you’ll have to remember that - he turns when he gets to the bottom of the stairs, and you see that the door to the living room is open now. You can hear a sort of whispered argument going on in there, between what sounds like two or three people, but you can’t see wh-

“Um, yeah - yeah, I’ll just go and get something from the - fuck! - sorry, sorry, I’m just - oh my God!”

Totally stunned, all you can do is watch as a man comes hurrying out of the living room towards you, talking at lightning speed over his shoulder and almost tripping over Gavin’s tail before the demon whips it out of the way just in time. He stumbles forwards as he tries to get his balance back, grabbing the end of the bannister to keep himself upright - you catch a glimpse of something silver around his neck, tucked into his shirt, before you’re suddenly face-to-face with a very large pair of glasses, and the very flustered-looking man who’s right behind them.

(Oh, for the love of - did anyone break into your house who isn’t ridiculously pretty? What sort of home invader beauty pageant did these people all come from?)

“Shit.”

Both of you stare at each other for a confused second, unblinking, before the strange man jerks backwards away from you, hands fluttering awkwardly in the air as he starts to ramble.

“I mean, um, sorry! Not to, like, call you - not you, obviously - that would be rude, and - and I’m not trying to be rude, it’s just, you know…”

“Smooth,” murmurs Gavin behind him, leaning against the wall and not even trying to hide his grin. “Now do one of those pick-up lines we practised.”

The man shuts his eyes like he’s trying to stave off a headache, taking what’s clearly a blood-pressure-lowering deep breath. “Please, please fuck off.”

Gavin shrugs, blowing him an unapologetic kiss and waving at you with the tip of his tail, before disappearing through the door to the living room with a cackle.

“Whatever you say, Lasky!”

“Oh, not again-!”

He turns to you, almost pleadingly, and he looks so comically weary that you’re not sure whether to laugh or cry. “It’s Lasko, not Lasky, he does this every time and I…”

“It’s - um, it’s alright,” you reply, and give him your nicest smile. “Nice to meet you, Lasko.”

He blinks owlishly at you for a second, like he’s not sure what to say, before smiling back at you. “Nice to… uh, nice to meet you too!”

Idly, you notice that his hand has come up to fiddle with the chain of his necklace, although the actual pendant is hidden under his shirt. It must be pretty sizeable, though, because you can just about see the shape of it through the material - a kind of sphere, or a round-ish chunk of some gemstone, maybe?

“I was just going to get some water for - well, for you, actually, just ‘cause Hux said he thought it might be nice? Like, obviously it’s a lot to get used to, and if you’re holding a drink then you don’t have to, um - you know, when you don’t know what to do with your hands? Or if you don’t know what to say, then you’ve got something to do, and anyway, it’s just kind of nice to… to, uh…”

Lasky - nope, Lasko, it’s Lasko - trails off, apparently only just noticing that he’s blocking the bottom of the stairs, and hurriedly sidesteps out of the way to let you past. “You can go in, by the way! I’ll just be a minute.”

Before you have a chance to say anything, he disappears off towards the kitchen, white ankle socks sliding slightly on the wooden floor, and all you can think is that you’ve never heard of a burglar who took off his shoes when he broke into the house.

Well, you might as well do what he says…?

Timidly, you creep up to the living room door and peer around the doorframe, dreading what you’ll find. These people all seem very nice, but what the hell are they doing here, anyway? Are they going to do something to you? How long have they been planning this? You couldn’t run, even if you tried - if they’ve got a demon on their side, you’d barely be able to get out the front door before they’d catch you again.

Being brave, you’ve got to be brave. Whatever they want, just give it to them, and maybe they’ll go away.

“Hey, uh… you okay?”

You jolt as another man pops into view, leaning into your field of vision from where he’s sitting on the sofa. He waves, and his smile is awfully sweet as he motions for you to come into the room.

“You can stay there if you want, but, like… it’s your house, right?” he laughs, not unkindly. “You can go wherever you like, dude, we won’t stop you.”

He sits back upright from where he was leaning over as you walk nervously into the room, and you notice that there’s another man sitting next to him on the sofa. It’s hard to tell, seeing as they’re sitting down, but this one looks slightly shorter than the first, flicking his dark hair out of his face and fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

(Fucking hell, they’re literally all so beautiful. Do the cast of Vogue normally spend their free time breaking and entering, or are you just really lucky?)

“Damien,” the shorter man says, standing up and walking around the coffee table with one hand outstretched. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Well, he’s certainly cutting to the chase, isn’t he? Fair enough. You introduce yourself in turn as you shake his hand, but you can’t help but think there’s something… something odd about the feeling of his skin. He’s not cold, per se, but it’s something like that - a strange feeling that runs down your spine like ice water, like your mind can’t place it but your body instinctively knows that something isn’t quite right.

In any case, he sits back down and the man next to him lifts a hand in greeting, looking slightly embarrassed that Damien beat him to the punch.

“Ah, I’m Huxley,” he says, “but Hux is fine, if that’s better for you.”

Damien rolls his eyes with unmistakable fondness, which is a bizarre choice for a home invader. “You can just say which one you prefer, you know. It’s your name.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

Huxley shrugs, and you can tell they’ve had this conversation a thousand times. “I don’t really mind, you know? Like, whichever one you say, I still know what you mean, ‘cause it’s all still me. And anyway, if I changed my mind, I’d just say later.”

He grins, sharp and painfully handsome, and turns his head to look past Damien over to the loveseat, where you belatedly realise Gavin and his human, um, friend from before are sprawled out across the cushions.

“Besides, I feel like there’s worse culprits, y’know?”

Damien drops his head in his hands. “Don’t even get me started on Freelancer.”

Apparently-Freelancer lifts a lazy middle finger in his direction. “It gets the point across, doesn’t it?”

“There’s got to be more to a name than just gets the point across,” he moans. “Just because you happen to be a Freelancer doesn't mean that's all you are.”

They huff, turning their face away haughtily. “It’s a name if I say it's a name.”

“It's literally a nickname! You have a different name! That we know and also call you!”

Freelancer’s eyes narrow wickedly. “Want me to choose a different nickname?”

Gavin lifts his head interestedly from where he’s draped across their lap. “I might have some suggestions-”

“No!” shrieks Damien, and the temperature in the room unexpectedly spikes as he flops backwards against the sofa cushions, decidedly not looking over at the loveseat. “God, no, we already hear enough of those when you’re-”

“Jesus,” Lasko mutters as he comes in through the door behind you, silently passing you a glass of water and motioning for you to sit down in the one empty armchair that's opposite the sofa. “Sorry about them. It happens a lot.”

You nod noncommittally as you sit down, watching it all with a sort of vague detachment as he goes to perch on the arm of the sofa next to Huxley. The three of them are facing you across the coffee table, with Gavin and Freelancer occupying the loveseat on the right, and something about the way they’re all looking at you is strangely… interrogative? Like you’re here for the world’s weirdest job interview or something - like they’re trying to get the measure of you.

It’s quite awkward, to be honest. You take a sip of your water, feeling oddly grateful for Lasko’s foresight about not having to wonder what to do with your hands.

“Okay, look.”

Damien breaks the ice, leaning forward slightly as he looks seriously at you. “This is going to sound kind of - kind of unusual. And we get that. But it’s true, and you deserve to know, so we’ll just… we’ll just say it, I guess.”

He takes a deep breath. Huxley quietly holds out his hand, palm up, and Damien takes it.

“When you bought this place, they told you about the previous owners, right?”

You nod, remembering that uncomfortable meeting with the estate agent. “Yeah.”

“Well, you’re, um…” Damien’s gaze slides to the side, uncomfortable, before returning to you. “You’re looking at them, I’m afraid.”

Sorry, you’re what?

He gives you a second to process that, not that a second is nearly enough, and carries on. “All of us owned this house before you. Whenever they said anything about previous occupants, or ex-tenants, or whatever bullshit word they used - they were talking about us.”

“You’re joking,” you manage to force out, incredulous. “But you - she said you - she said-”

“That we died?” says Gavin, with a grim smile. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“No. No, no - that’s impossible!”

Your mind reels in confusion at this utterly bizarre story, trying to make sense of it all. So what - so they’re all dead, then? Like, ghosts or something? That can’t be right - the closest thing you’ve ever heard of to that were Shades, and they definitely aren’t Shades.

There’s no magic in the world that can reanimate the dead. For as long as humans have had magic, they’ve tried and tried, but it just doesn’t work. So what the hell are these people playing at?

(And anyway, didn’t the woman at the estate agency say there were four ex-tenants? How can there suddenly be five of them?)

You shake your head in disbelief. “You’re joking. This has to be a joke.”

“I said the same thing,” Lasko says mournfully, looking down at the floor. “If it is a joke, it looks like it’s on us.”

“You’re magical, right?”

Freelancer’s voice is quiet, but something about it is strangely urgent. “You can feel other people’s auras, can’t you?”

“Yes…?” you reply, unsure of what they’re getting at. “What about it?”

“We are, too,” they say, and a flame dances to life in their palm. “So shouldn’t you be able to feel us?”

Reflexively, your aura ripples around you as you search for what you know must be right in front of you - they’re doing magic right now, so surely you’ll be able to feel something…?

Nothing. Not them, not anyone else. It’s as if nobody’s there at all - only that insistent thrum of magic that flows through the bones of this house, that you remember thinking was unusually strong. Those noises you couldn’t explain, things in strange places that shouldn’t have been able to move. You’ve never had to water the plants once.

Was this what that feeling was all along? Were they what you were feeling?

You don’t know what to say. This shouldn’t be possible.

“I don’t get it,” you mumble, feeling awfully small and scared. “I don’t - I don’t understand.”

“Then we’ll explain it a different way,” says Huxley, with so much patience that you could almost cry. “Is that cool with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He starts to stand up like he’s going to come over to you, but there’s not really any room on the chair next to you, so he just sort of awkwardly sits back down again. “Okay, we’ll start from the beginning. Lasko?”

Lasko waves, an awkward little half-gesture. “Hi.”

You take another sip of your water - it’s slightly lukewarm now, but it’s still comforting.

“I was - well, I was first,” he says, trembling fingers tugging at his necklace chain again. “I used to work at DAMN, like you, and I ended up renting this place - I remember thinking it was unusually cheap, but I needed somewhere to live, right?”

He laughs, slightly shakily. “I guess it must have been a problem with the electrics, or something, ‘cause I’m sure it wasn’t me. But I was in the, um - I was in the bath, and I remember the lights flickering like there was a storm, or something? It felt odd, like something in the air, and there must have been a power surge…”

A horrible feeling blossoms in the pit of your stomach when you realise what he’s saying - he must see it on your face, shrugging sheepishly. “I don’t really know how it actually happened…? I mean, I think it was a heart attack, or it stopped my heart or something like that, but I - I guess I normally just say I got electrocuted. It’s - uh, I mean, I don’t have to explain it a lot, but it’s easier than saying the whole thing, I think.”

Dimly, you recall the estate agent’s voice in your head. An electrical fault.

“Afterwards, the rental company didn’t want the place anymore,” Lasko says, surprisingly cheerily. “You can’t really blame them, though.”

“I think you can,” grumbles Freelancer. “They did kill you.”

Lasko shrugs. “How were they supposed to know?”

“They sold you a house that zapped you to death!”

“They rented me a house that zapped me to death,” Lasko fires back, waving a hand in Freelancer’s direction as they stick their tongue out at him. “It’s probably different.”

Damien rolls his eyes - you’re getting the distinct impression he does that a lot - and elbows Huxley lightly in the side. “For the love of God, please distract them.”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, and turns to you. “I used to be a student at DAMN, and I needed somewhere to live after the semester ended, right? Like, my lease was up, and I didn't really know what I was gonna do - you know what it's like.”

“You were at DAMN?” you ask, surprised. “What were you studying?”

“Oh, uh, Earth Elemental Studies,” Huxley replies, with a melancholy smile. “I had a teaching gig lined up for after graduation, but… you know.”

He gestures down at himself and shrugs. Lasko looks away.

“I ended up renting this place after Lasko had his, uh, accident - they said everything had been fixed, but I guess they didn't get it all…? The weather in Dahlia isn't normally so bad, so I must've just been unlucky with the storm. You know how the ceiling in the kitchen is a different colour to the walls? Like it's been repaired recently?”

Oh, you have a bad feeling about this. “Yeah.”

He grimaces. “It, uh… well, it wasn't like that before I moved in.”

Fucking hell. When she said there has been an issue with the roof she’d been putting it mildly.

Huxley must see your horrified expression, quickly cutting back in. “Don’t worry about it, dude - it didn't hurt that bad, not for long. It was pretty quick, when you think about it.”

“I mean, most people don't like thinking about it at all,” Damien murmurs under his breath. “We’re not exactly in the majority here.”

Huxley tips his head to the side in acquiescence. “It was a while ago. Gotta get over this kind of shit eventually.”

Gavin’s jaw drops. “You're over it?”

“Well, no…” he replies. “But it'll probably happen at some point, yeah?”

Freelancer, half-buried underneath their human-blanket (demon-blanket?) over on the loveseat, blinks in apparent wonder. “Hux, you're my hero.”

Huxley grins. “Don't let Gav hear you saying that.”

“Oh, he's not listening,” they scoff, tipping Gavin’s face up to kiss the tip of his nose. “Are you, darling?”

Gavin shakes his head, eyes closed and wearing a wide, lazy smile. “Didn't hear a thing.”

Damien sighs fondly at their antics, gaze all soft and sticky, before turning back to you. “In any case, I was the next one. Moved in a few weeks after the storm, when they said everything was fixed. When they were telling you about us, did anyone mention a fall?”

You’d been kind of preoccupied by the more unusual deaths, so you don't really remember if the lady did or not, but it sounds about right. “I think so…?”

“Then there's not much more to say.”

He shifts slightly in his seat. “I was rushing, and I slipped - it's my own fault, really. I’d overslept and I thought I was going to be late for a lecture, so I wasn't really looking where I was going. You know how slippery the stairs can get.”

You wince. “They’re pretty bad, yeah.”

“You'd have thought they'd at least put some carpet down or something after I died, but apparently not,” Damien grumbles. “First they had to dig Hux out from under whatever cheap roofing shit they had before, then five minutes later we were all watching some poor contractor scrubbing my goddamned blood out of the floorboards, because it would have been too fucking expensive to replace it all - do they just like having to scrape their tenants off the floor, or something? Because that's what would have happened to you earlier if we hadn't done anything, for fuck’s sake…”

He looks up sharply when he says that, like he's just remembered something. “Oh, um - yeah, that was us. Sorry about that. But also, like, the espresso-Monster thing you drank probably wasn’t the best breakfast.”

This morning. All those things that didn't add up. Falling down the stairs, and landing at the top of them. That was them?

“How did it…” You're not quite sure how to put it. “How did you do it?”

“Oh, you can thank Lasko for that,” he replies. “He managed to slow you down enough that Gavin was able to heal you without anything being too serious.”

You look over at Lasko, nervously waving his hands in front of his face like it’ll ward off any sort of thanks. “It was just luck, that's all! I just, you know - I was in the right place at the right time, and I - well, the whole air thing is kind of easy for me, so it wasn't even that complicated or anything - I mean, not that it wasn't important, obviously, but-”

“Lasko.”

“Yes?”

You smile. “Thank you.”

Nervously, he smiles back, with an charmingly-awkward little thumbs up. “Not, uh, no problem.”

“If you’re trying to join us, you’ll have to try harder than that,” Damien quips, blackly. “Dying like that isn't fun, believe me.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you say. “Next time, I’ll just let the caffeine poison me all by itself.”

He nods approvingly, the hint of a held-back smile brightening his handsome face. “See, now you’re getting it.”

Idly, you lift the glass to your mouth, only to realise that - wait, it’s empty? No, it can’t be. When did you drink all of that? How bizarre. Hearing about people dying must be thirsty work. Quietly, you put it down on the coffee table in front of you.

“Freelancer.”

“Mm?” Freelancer looks up, distracted from whatever sweet nothings Gavin seems to be mumbling into their neck. “What?”

Damien tips his head slightly in your direction. “You’re up to bat, I’m afraid.”

“Already? That was quick.” With a little bit of fidgeting, they push themselves up to sit facing you, one hand holding Gavin’s, and the other around his back as he sits sideways with his legs across their lap.

“So, it’s… it’s not the nicest thing,” they say, eyes darting away before sliding back to meet yours. “And it probably isn’t going to make a huge amount of sense, just ‘cause when the - actually, that reminds me - did they say something about a break-in? And - and a trespasser?”

The most recent. Altercation with an intruder. Highly unusual. Shouldn’t happen again.

You look down. “They did, yeah.”

“Well, it’s mostly true,” Freelancer says, “although it’s not the full thing. The unempowered police had to come and investigate, and that was the best they could come up with, so that’s what the estate agent will have told you.”

“Was it magical, then?” you ask, slightly hesitantly.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was,” they reply hesitantly. “I’d only just moved here to come to DAMN. I was humanborn, so I didn’t really know a whole lot about magic, but I had a - well, there was an… uh…”

Nervously, they look at Gavin - he shakes his head almost imperceptibly, and they swallow.

“I heard about DAMN from a friend, so I thought it would be good to come and try and learn some, like, actual magic, right? And Gavin and I met here, just after I moved - it’s kind of a long story, but he ended up basically moving in here as well after a while. So that’s why we - well, that’s how we’re, uh, here. Together.”

Their leg bounces as they tap their heel against the floor, over and over. You’re not getting the feeling that this story is going to end well.

“There was a… a problem,” they mumble, after a little pause. “A friend of ours was being chased by a demon - a different demon, a really strong one, who we didn’t know. He was hurt, so he came here for help - but the demon chasing him followed him here.”

Attacked? By a demon? God, what sort of city is this? If this is the sort of thing that’s happening here, maybe it’s not such a bad thing that you don’t go out much.

Freelancer continues, gaze now fixed firmly on their feet. “He attacked us - and our friend. There was no time to do anything, so we - we did what we could, but…”

Gavin’s tail wraps and unwraps around Freelancer’s wrist, winding around their arm first one way, then the other.

“This demon, he was… powerful,” he says, carefully. “He was old - much older than me, and it wasn’t exactly like we could have seen him coming. We were lucky to do as much as we did.”

Silently, Lasko picks up your glass from the coffee table, and walks out of the living room.

“Our friend got away, at least,” Freelancer says, through what you think is meant to be a smile. “And we did sort-of win - Gavin managed to knock him out, and took him to the Department. He’s probably in a prison somewhere, now.”

So… they won? But then how are they…?

Freelancer must see the question written across your face. “By the time Gavin got him, I’d already, um… you know. The old coffee table in here was pretty heavy, and when it hit me, it was kind of, uh - yeah. It wasn’t great.”

The thought of it turns your blood to ice. They died in here? This room? The same room you’re in right now, where they’re sitting on the loveseat like it’s nothing - this room? How can they even stand to be in here like this, after everything that’s happened?

“I’m - I’m sorry,” you manage to say, painfully aware of how hollow it must sound. “That must have been awful.”

Strangely enough, they shake their head. “Gavin got the worst of it. The rift, when he came back…”

They trail off into silence, and Gavin doesn’t say anything either. Frozen in place, unmoving - like this, they could almost be stone. Alive and undead. Sobbing but never crying, rainwater dripping down the marble.

“When we died, we became… this.”

You look over at Huxley, speaking softly. “We can’t be seen by living people, and we can’t leave this place. Touching objects - like, physical stuff like doors and books and water - it takes more effort, but it’s still okay. We can still do most magic, too, but it’s not as easy as it used to be.”

You nod, slightly confused. Why is he telling you this now…?

“It happens pretty quickly,” he adds, “the whole transformation, resurrection, whatever. But it… well. Yeah.”

“It doesn’t take much to kill a human.”

Gavin’s voice is raw and venomous, glaring at the floor, fangs bared in a bitter snarl.

“Demons last a little bit longer.”

In your mind’s eye, the horrifying scene unfolds. A human body, shattered and bloody, lifted gently from the wreckage and cradled in the fading arms of a dying demon. Gavin, tears streaming down his crumbling face, clutching the corpse of his human lover - no magic left, an immortal being surrendering to an impossible death. Freelancer, imprisoned in the silent space between sleeping and waking, screaming in terror yet doomed to go unheard. Forced to watch as Gavin’s form falters and dissolves, scattered back into the nothingness of stardust.

Of course. Five deaths, four tenants. No body left to bury.

There’s nothing you can say to that. Nothing at all.

Behind you, Lasko comes back in from the kitchen, passing you a refilled glass of water before walking back over to the sofa. It’s freezing cold in your hand, and you can’t help but shiver involuntarily.

“Ow!”

Startled, all of your heads snap towards Lasko - he’s tripped over the stack of papers that you were marking last night, catching himself on the side of the loveseat and accidentally smacking face-first into Gavin’s shoulder. Freelancer jerks backwards out of the way as he hisses in surprise, jolting forwards with the unexpected weight against his back, and Damien bursts into laughter as Lasko stutters his way through a flustered apology, wrenching himself back upright and scurrying off to the sofa to hide behind Huxley.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry! I didn’t see it - I just tripped, and oh, I didn’t mean to hit you - are you okay? Like, I didn’t hurt you, did I? God, I don’t know how I forgot it was there - and your back, are you-”

“If you want to get your hands on me, you can just ask,” Gavin purrs over the top of him, rubbing his shoulder blade where Lasko’s face presumably impacted with the flat spade of his tail. “And yes, I’m fine, thank you. Unless you wanted to kiss it better?”

Lasko’s breath visibly stops, the poor thing, as Gavin fixes him with a smirk so ridiculously charming that you almost can’t tear your eyes away. Fuck, he’s so beautiful, wicked gaze dragging slowly down the length of Lasko’s body, painted claws catching the light as they just barely start to flirt with the hem of Freelancer’s shirt…

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Huxley trying not to laugh as Lasko peeks out from over his shoulder. “Keep it together there, Gav. We’ve got an audience, y’know.”

Lasko buries his face in his hands. “Please, God, don’t-”

“Oh, Hux,” Gavin sighs plaintively, although the impish smile across his face gives him away. “Why do you think I offered?”

A quiet rustle of fabric, and underneath him, Freelancer lets out a long, slow breath that you hadn’t noticed they were holding. You, um… you can’t see the end of Gavin’s tail any more, and you’re not entirely sure if you want to know where it is.

“I’m so sorry,” Damien groans, flinging a stray sofa cushion at Gavin’s head as he gives you an apologetic look, ignoring the confused squawking from the loveseat when it accidentally hits Freelancer in the shoulder and ricochets into Gavin’s face. “You’re all dead to me.”

Huxley pats him on the shoulder. “We’re dead to everyone, babe.”

“Not helping.”

“Love you too.”

“That was so rude!” comes a gasp from your right. Amused, you look over to find an outraged Gavin, holding up the projectile cushion in one clawed hand, eyes narrowed sulkily at Damien for ruining the fun. “Don’t you think, deviant?”

Freelancer nods sagely. “Very rude.”

“He didn’t even let us finish! We could have been doing something entirely innocent.”

“We’re so nice to him, and he’s always so mean to us.”

“Spoiling our fun.”

“Getting in our way.”

“Getting in our bed-”

“Will you two stop it!” Damien hisses, pointing an accusing finger at Gavin when the demon actually hisses back at him. “I wouldn’t have to be rude if you two would stop being so - so… lascivious!”

Freelancer grins, eyes scrunched up into happy little half-moons and arms wrapped possessively around Gavin’s waist. “He thinks we’re lascivious.”

“What about tea?” interrupts Lasko, standing up suddenly and motioning behind his back for you to follow him. “We’ll have tea, that’ll be nice, does anyone want some? Good, okay, we’ll just go and make the - the, um - we’ll just go, won’t be long, back in a minute-”

You’re not sure if ghosts can get high blood pressure, but you say a silent prayer for whatever nightmare must be going on in Damien’s undead arteries. Huxley jokingly salutes the pair of you as you scramble after Lasko - shaky hands all but push you out of the door, and he pulls it swiftly shut behind him with a decisive psychokinetic flourish, muffling the enthusiastic bickering inside.

It's finally quiet again.

Just you and Lasko.

“Is it always like this?”

He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the door, laughing weakly. “Basically, yeah.”

Well. Considering everything that could have gone wrong with finding out that your house is haunted and practically infested with the undead, at least the ghosts that you've got are fun ghosts.

“Kind of you to volunteer my tea for everyone,” you say breezily, motioning for Lasko to follow you into the kitchen and stifling your smile when his face turns to almost comical panic. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“Are - are you sure?” He wrings his hands as he trails after you, teeth digging into his bottom lip in a way that really shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. “Sorry, I just - we’d be there all day otherwise, and I just wanted to distract them for a bit, but I didn’t really think about it, you know, and…”

He takes a slow, deep breath, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it. “I mean, uh, thank you.”

The kettle’s empty, so you go to fill it up at the sink while Lasko silently gets some mugs out of the cupboard, along with a handful of teaspoons and some teabags.

Too silently, in fact.

“Tea’s in the right hand drawer, by the way.”

Lasko freezes guiltily as you say it, wrist deep in the box of Earl Grey. “You know. Because I didn’t tell you, so there’s no way you could have known.”

He winces. “Sorry…”

“I mean, it’s not the worst thing you could be looking at.” You’re not actually that angry, all things considered, but it needs to be said. “Do I need a ghost-proof shower curtain, too?”

“What? No - God, no!” he stammers, seemingly horrified by the implication. “I swear none of us would do anything like that - we would never! We have never! No, that’d be - no!”

He shakes his head emphatically, nearly knocking his glasses off in the process. “We don’t go into the bathroom when you’re there, and your bedroom is always off-limits. Promise. You can ask the others.”

“I should hope so.” Next to you, the kettle starts to steam, although it’s not quite hot enough yet. “Am I - wait, you were the first one, right?”

He nods, quietly shuffling through the tea drawer again. “Yeah.”

“Could the others see you… before? Like me?” you ask, walking over to the fridge. “Milk?”

“If that’s okay.”

Without looking, you reach in and grab the carton, before putting it down on the counter next to him. “I just don’t understand. How come I can see you now, but I couldn’t before?”

“That’s what we were talking about before you came in,” he replies. “Hux thinks it’s something to do with this morning - like, that you had some sort of near-death experience? And then that means you can see us, because we’re dead and you were nearly-dead…? I don’t know, it’s a work in progress.”

Wait, so does that mean you actually did poison yourself this morning? Or is he talking about falling down the stairs? Of course you’d accidentally manage to find a way to nearly kick the bucket twice in a single day. What a liability they all must think you are…

“The others couldn’t see like you do,” Lasko continues, oblivious to your spiralling. “Not until they were already gone. You’re the first one who’s been able to see us while you were still - actually, um, that reminds me…”

The kettle clicks, having boiled. He reaches over to get it, but you wave him away, picking it up and moving to fill up the collection of mugs - and, oddly, an entire teapot that you’re sure you’ve never seen before - he’s arranged on the countertop.

“If you wanted to leave now that you’ve heard all of - uh, all of this… well, we wouldn’t be upset. We’re not gonna, like, make you stay here or anything.”

Confused, you frown down at the mug in front of you. “What do you mean?”

“You know, ah…” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him fiddling with his necklace again. “We’re not the luckiest people in the world. None of us lasted very long in this house - and the whole ‘being undead’ thing isn’t really something we understand. Like, why us? What did we ever do? Is it the house? Is it us? Is it, like, destiny or fate or something - because it kind of brings up a whole new set of problems about the existence of life after death - and, you know, are we the only ghosts in the world, and if so then why, or are there others? Does this happen to everyone, and living people just can’t see them? We wouldn’t blame you for wanting to get out before, you know…”

You put the kettle back on the stand. It doesn’t look like he’s going to stop for breath any time soon.

“Not that we’re going to like, do something to you! No, no, that’s - I didn’t mean we were going to kill you or anything - oh, fuck, now it just sounds like we were going to do something and now I’ve put the fucking idea in your head, and now you’re going to be all stressed about it, and, like, ‘is it cursed?’ - and it’s not cursed, I think, but we don’t know for sure because even though curses aren’t a thing like unempowered people say, none of us have been able to figure out if there’s any, uh - any magic that might be like a curse, right?

“Lasko.”

“Just, you know, magic is so unpredictable and there’s so much we don’t know, so maybe it is cursed but we just can’t recognise it because we don’t know what we’re even looking for, and Gavin’s been trying to come up with ideas, but it’s been really difficult ‘cause we didn’t want to use your computer or anything, that’s a huge breach of privacy, right? And - and we can’t leave the house to go and talk to anyone - well, really it’s the property, so we can still go out in the garden and stuff - which reminds me, I was meant to tell you about-”

“Lasko!”

You can practically see the words falling out of his mouth before he cuts himself off, the poor thing. “Mm-hmm?”

“The tea,” you say calmly, stepping back from the counter to give him room. “I don’t know how they like it.”

“Oh, right! Yeah, I’ll, um - I can do that.”

He starts sorting out the different mugs, taking teabags out of some sooner than others, adding milk and sugar and what-have-you, leaving one to the side for you and nervously chattering away.

“I’ll never understand how Gavin and Hux have it so sweet - although, I think Gavin’s like that with everything, you know? He says it’s just because he likes the taste, but Damien told me - um, you shouldn’t say I said this, but he thinks when Gavin gave himself a human form - ‘cause demons don’t have physical bodies normally, right? Well, Damien thinks he accidentally got his body addicted to sugar or something like that, because - oh, I don't know, something, something, pleasure centres or pleasure receptors, whatever - it probably lit up a similar part of his brain to the bit that he associated with eating, and being full - wait, did he say he was an incubus? Because he is, he definitely is - oh, we probably should have mentioned that…”

Slowly, Lasko’s voice settles into the back of your mind as you make your tea, head too full of everything else he’s said to really be listening. It’s not on purpose. You’ve just got a lot to think about.

Yes, he makes a good point about the house, and the strange coincidences that have happened here. Yes, he makes a good point about what might happen to you if you choose to stay. Yes, he makes a good point about how you’ll have to actually accept the undeniable proof of the existence of life after death, and everything that means for your worldview.

Looking up, your eyes are drawn to the faint line where the ceiling and the wall meet, and the two shades of paint that don’t quite match.

Wow. In about an hour, this is going to be a magnificent existential crisis.

But those aren’t problems for now, are they? If you try and deal with all of this at once, you’re fairly sure your head is going to explode just thinking about it. All of this, all of the fucked-up undead weirdness that’s just fallen into your lap out of thin air - all of it can wait.

First, tea.

Lasko seems to have sorted out all the different cups of tea, stirring a final spoonful of sugar into the one second from the right with one hand. Luckily, he’s picked cups that are all different colours, so hopefully it shouldn’t be too hard to stop them getting mixed up.

“That one’s for Hux, then Damien’s is the jasmine, then the middle one is for Freelancer. Gavin’s is the penguin one, and then this one is for me.”

He points at them from left to right, explaining whose they are as you get a tray out of the cupboard and put it down on the counter. You’re just about to start transferring everything onto it when - oh, that’s what’s missing!

Lasko takes over, looking confused as you suddenly turn on your heel and start rifling through the cupboard by the microwave. “Are you… okay?”

“Just a second…” Where are they? You could have sworn they were just… ah, there they are. You’ll have to get some more at the supermarket when you go next. “Do you think they’ll want plates?”

Lasko’s face brightens when he sees what you’re holding, and it belatedly occurs to you that he probably hasn’t eaten much since - well, since everything. If the owner of the house can’t see you, then they’re not going to give you anything, and if you can’t leave the house, you can’t buy anything yourself. If he’s a demon, then maybe Gavin could magic something up, but didn’t Huxley say that doing magic was harder for all of them then it used to be? What’s the limit?

Besides, even if ghosts probably don’t need to eat, that doesn’t mean that they can’t, right? It might not be necessary, but it might still be nice.

“Mm, probably not,” Lasko muses, but he gets a few out of the cupboard anyway as you open the packet of biscuits and put it down on the tray next to Freelancer’s tea. “I don’t think they’ll, uh, last that long.”

He moves the penguin mug slightly to make room for the teapot and an empty cup - oh, that must be the jasmine tea he was talking about. But where did he…?

“Damien used to have one like this.”

Lasko’s voice is quiet, presumably having noticed you staring in confusion at the tray. “It got taken away with all his things when Freelancer moved in, but Gavin made him a new one. The cup, too. It’s not exactly the same, but it’s close enough.”

He looks away, eyes closed. There’s not really anything you can say to that.

“If there’s…”

As you speak, you can hear the faintest sound of laughter from the other room. Presumably they’ve kissed and made up, in what you get the feeling isn’t always an entirely metaphorical sense. “If there’s anything I can get you, then you just need to ask. Anything.”

Lasko smiles down at the tray, and you don’t look at how his eyes are a little bit shinier than they were a minute ago. “Thanks.”

“Come on, then,” you say with a smile, nudging him out of the way and picking up the tray. “It’ll be stone cold in a minute, if we’re not careful.”

Lasko protests, fluttering around beside you as you head back towards the living room, insisting that he doesn’t want to be rude, please please please let him carry it, it was his idea and now you’re doing all the work, oh he’s so sorry - but you don’t let him. It’s a bit heavy, but it’s not that bad, and didn’t one of them say that it’s harder to interact with physical objects now than it was when they were alive? You don’t know exactly how much harder, but you’d feel kind of bad if you made Lasko hold all the stuff when it’s not as easy for him.

Darting ahead of you down the corridor, he opens the living room door for you, and you - well, you were going to put it down on the coffee table in the middle, but it’s not actually there anymore. Instead, it’s been pushed out of the way towards the window, to make space for the sofa to be tilted a little bit more towards the TV.

Lasko, the bastard, takes advantage of your momentary surprise. You’re going to have to ask if he’s an Air Elemental or something, because you feel a suspiciously-timed air current rushing past your arm and almost pushing the tray towards him, letting him lift it deftly out of your hands and carry it over.

Freelancer and Gavin, chastised but utterly unrepentant, appear to have commandeered most of the sofa, along with its previous occupants. Huxley idly strokes his fingers over Gavin’s horns as Freelancer flips through channels on the TV, while Damien, sitting cross-legged on the rug against the front of the sofa, pats the ground next to him when Lasko bends down to put his teapot and cup in front of him.

“Join me. I’ve been exiled.”

“We’ll call the Pope,” Lasko replies thoughtfully, “he might be able to get you excommunicated as well. Two for one.”

Damien raises an eyebrow, just barely failing to resist the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “See, now you’re talking.”

Lasko laughs, standing back up and offering the tray to the others on the sofa. “Clever of you to move the table out of the way,” he notes dryly, as Freelancer goes to take their tea from the tray and recoils at the heat of the ceramic. “Do you want me to leave it over there until it cools down?”

Huxley nods gratefully, taking a biscuit from the packet and batting away Gavin’s tail without even looking when the incubus tries to surreptitiously steal it out of his hand. “Aw, would you? Thanks, dude.”

Now that he says it, that might actually be a good idea - you reach over to get a biscuit for yourself as well, before going round to perch on the arm of the sofa next to Freelancer while Lasko puts the tray down on the coffee table. They seem to have found a programme they like, some cooking competition show you’ve never seen, and pass the remote down to Damien with a satisfied hum so he can put it on the floor next to him.

“Is this a new series?” he asks quietly, head resting against the side of their leg. “I thought you already watched all of them.”

Freelancer shrugs, absentmindedly twirling Gavin’s tail between their fingers as he readjusts his legs across their lap. “We did, yeah. But this one is a good one.”

The rest of the evening passes in something of a blur - warm tea and good company and some truly ridiculous commentary on the TV that has you laughing harder than you think you have in weeks, maybe even months. After the first programme finishes and the next one is starting, Damien seems to remember that you’d never actually had that dinner you were going to make, and drags you into the kitchen to get you something a bit more substantial than a biscuit.

Gavin trails after you, too, sitting himself on the countertop next to the fridge and watching you two cook. It doesn’t seem malicious or mean - rather, his eyes follow you curiously around the room in a way that distinctly reminds you of an intrigued housecat. He seems to have magicked up a lollipop or something to amuse himself with as well, idly moving the stick back and forth in his mouth as the hard sugar clicks against his teeth.

The feline comparison apparently occurs to Damien as well, who, for some reason, quickly moves everything within about a metre of the fridge on the counter out of easy reach. At first you’re surprised, but then you see Gavin’s tail droop in mock-disappointment, hanging limply down in front of the cabinets, and you realise what’s going on.

“Don’t mind him,” he stage-whispers to you as you wait for the stove to heat up. “He’s not so bad. Freelancer just spoils him something rotten.”

Gavin sniffs haughtily, clawed fingers pulling the - apparently heart-shaped - lolly out of his mouth and sticking his red-stained tongue out at Damien. “I am very cute and sexy and worthy of spoiling.”

“What you are is in the way, genius,” Damien replies, deadpan, pointing at the cutlery drawer that Gavin’s legs are currently blocking. “Fork, please.”

You can practically see Gavin vibrating as he tries to hold back the obvious joke, in favour of reaching down and taking a metal fork from the drawer, holding it out in one hand.

“Ah, ah-”

He snatches it back when Damien reaches for it, holding out the lollipop in his other hand instead. “I got you a present.”

Damien eyes it with interest, shiny and red, and you’re not sure if you should still be watching. “What flavour?”

“Cherry.”

Damien thinks about it for a second, before opening his mouth and letting Gavin put the lolly on his tongue. “Mmm. Thanks.”

Gavin smirks lazily, and hands him the fork. “Mwah.”

Neither of them seem embarrassed afterwards, like it was something you weren’t supposed to see, or like they’d forgotten you were there. It’s… kind of pleasant, in an unexpected way. Being around people who are funny, who are friendly, who don’t seem to be uncomfortable around you. You don’t really know anyone like that in Dahlia yet, and you hadn’t realised quite how much you’d missed it until now.

It’s just the same when you go back into the living room to eat, sitting properly on the sofa this time, next to Huxley. All of them just seem so nice - a far cry from the terrifying criminals you’d thought they might have been. Just ordinary, good people. Sweet and kind and silly. The sort of people that you’ve always wanted to be friends with, but that you’ve never been good at finding.

Damien makes a joke about one of the cooking judges on the screen, and Lasko splutters as he laughs and his tea goes down the wrong way. Huxley wraps his arm around Gavin’s waist to pull him closer against his side, and Freelancer follows suit, draping themselves over Gavin’s back and gleefully making themself comfortable on his shoulder.

There’s a lot to think about, that much is clear. The reality of the situation, the fear of what might be waiting for you if you choose to stay - in a very real sense, they might very well be the death of you. But looking around at them, these people, trusting you with their secret and hoping that you’ll keep it for them, you’re struck with a new and frightening question.

Maybe it really is dangerous. Maybe this would be the biggest mistake of your life - the end of your life. But could you do it? Could you walk away now, knowing what you know, and not regret it?

Lasko leans his head against the front of the sofa, turning his head slightly to look up at you, and gives you a tiny, bashful wave with one hand.

You wave back. He smiles, warm light reflecting softly off his glasses, and perhaps the question isn’t quite as frightening as it used to be.

masterlist

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[thelightsandtheroses]

Call It What You Want: one - this is the day your life will surely change

Pairing: Frankie Morales x female reader (as she’s Tom Davis’ sister, she’s may not be really suitable as a complete reader insert but physical descriptions are avoided)

Summary: Tom Davis’ younger half-sister never expected to move back to Florida, but eight months after her brother’s untimely death and in the wake of her, in hindsight, ill-advised marriage ending, here she is. Frankie Morales is trying to get it together after his relapse on returning to Florida led to the breakdown of his relationship. His priorities now are finding his own place so he doesn’t need to sleep on Pope’s couch, maintaining sobriety, spending more time with his daughter and getting his pilot’s licence back. So when the two of them end up sharing an apartment, it seems like the ideal solution. However, things are never that simple, are they?

Chapter Warnings: Minors DNI (18+ only), language, discussions of drug abuse and addiction including a non-explicit reference to an overdose, allusions to a previously abusive relationship (not detailed or specified), discussions of death, PTSD, canon typical violence, do I need to warn for mentions of Tom (it’s post-movie though!) the reader is Tom’s half sister, though I have avoided physical descriptions and there is no use of y/n.

Word Count: 3.7k

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Frankie

Hope is a dangerous thing. Frankie’s spent years in the army, focusing on isolated missions, isolated goals. He was a weapon, a tool, one who became less of a person by the day. He saved people, he killed people. He learnt quickly there is no offsetting, no balance to that.

The army, the world, they taught Frankie that hope was a luxury you discard quickly. Detachment and the ability to compartmentalise became far more useful to him.

Then he had Gabby. Somehow amongst his many failures, against every part of him that knows he’s not good enough to be her dad, or to be in her life at all, there’s a lifebuoy, a glimmer of opportunity.

It’s still strange being in the home he shared with Melissa for years as a guest. He’s surrounded by the ghosts of a life he thought could have. It doesn’t hurt though, not as much at least.

Gabby’s playing with one of her toys, cheerfully babbling away with her dark curls in a loose high ponytail on the top of her head. Every time Frankie looks at her, he’s filled with that anxiety-inducing sense of love, of failure, of everything. He wants her to have everything, wants to be better for her. He will be.

“So, when do you get the keys for your new place?” Melissa says, handing him a steaming mug of coffee.

“Tomorrow. God, I’ll be glad to get off Santi’s couch,” Frankie says, rubbing his shoulder automatically.

“I bet.”

“I’m - I’m trying here, Melissa.”

“I know, I know you are, Frankie.” She opens her mouth for a moment but doesn’t say anything.

After a moment, Frankie takes a gulp of his coffee and goes back to watching their daughter.

Gabby is the one who breaks the silence by handing Frankie one of her toys and looking at him with what he can only describe as the most effective puppy eyes he’s seen. She is going to be a nightmare when she’s older, Frankie just knows it. How can he ever say no to her?

“Okay mija,” he says, sliding down from the couch to join her on the floor. “What are we doing here?”

“Do - do you everything you need?” Melissa asks, “for the apartment. We’ve - we’ve never done the whole dividing stuff up, have we? I mean you put some of your things in the garage, but do you have everything you need there?”

Frankie looks up. “I could do a couple of things maybe - most of it’s in the garage still, like you said.”

“Okay, well let’s sort that out then.” Melissa smiles at Frankie and it’s strangely reassuring. “I need to go dial into this work call, be back soon.”

For a while, it’s just Frankie and Gabby which he loves. When he was younger and he heard the other people in his barracks or missions talk about their kids, he couldn’t understand it. How could you be that fascinated by a baby who couldn’t even fully talk yet? He knows now though.

Melissa walks back in, massaging her brow with a hand. “God, I hate this office sometimes.”

“I should probably go in a minute.”

“Wait, um, Frankie, I was thinking … I forgot to say earlier, I have a thing - an overnight thing on Thursday, do you want to have Gabby then? I was going to take her to my mom’s but -” Thing is definitely code for date judging by her face.

“No, definitely, yeah.” It doesn’t even sting like he thought it would, though Frankie knows Melissa’s been a few dates in the last few months. In fact, all Frankie can think about is how it’ll be the longest unsupervised visit with his daughter since that night, how maybe there is some hope.

“You can keep her here, okay?” Melissa says softly.

Frankie nods. It’ll be another night on a sofa but one he doesn’t mind for once.

“Let’s get you settled where you are, see how things go. She adores you, Frankie, and I - I want you in her life, I need you to be, just-” she falters and shrugs.

He looks at his ex-partner and nods. “I’m not going anywhere, I’m there for her, anytime.”

“Good.”

Frankie reverts to focusing on whatever toy his daughter is trying to get him to join her in playing with.

“You know, I still can’t believe your roommate is Tom’s sister,” Melissa says after a moment.

“Blame Benny, it was his idea,” Frankie replies casually, “She seems fine though, very normal. Quiet even, makes a change from when I was at Benny’s.” Staying at Benny’s had been a challenge in Frankie’s early days of recovery. Benny’s one of his best friends but he’s loud and exuberant, even when he’s just faking it, and when you’re deep into the migraine and depression stage of withdrawal, well… it’s testament to their bond that they are still good friends.

“Are you going to be okay with that?”

“The quiet?”

“Her being Tom’s sister.” Melissa doesn’t know everything about South America, she can’t. The only people who really know are him, Santi, Benny and Will. They’ll probably take it to their graves. Melissa knows it was a recce, that it went wrong, that Tom died. He wanted to tell her, once, but he couldn’t. She knows enough though. She saw enough.

“It’ll be fine,” he says. “I’ll be fine.”

Melissa only hums in response.

“Hey Frankie? About Tom’s sister, you know, I remember her from - from his birthday last year,” Melissa says after a moment.

“Oh yeah?” Frankie asks distractedly, taking a different proffered toy from his daughter. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“She seemed sad,” Melissa says thoughtfully, “At Tom’s birthday, she was upset.”

Frankie looks up from Gabby. He’s surprised by Melissa’s observation and tries to remember the event in question. Gabby was only a few weeks old; he remembers that, remembers how the two of them had been so tired, how proud the two of them had been that they’d even made it to the party in the first place.

“How could you tell?” Frankie asks.

Melissa rolls her eyes. “She just looked sad, Frankie, I don’t know.“

You

In retrospect, perhaps agreeing to move in with one of your brother’s old army friends you only vaguely know and have had just half an hour’s worth of coffee with, to an apartment you hadn’t actually seen in person, is reckless.

On the plus side, you’re finally moving out of your ex-sister-in-law’s spare room. Not that you dislike Molly, it’s just too much.

You grab the nearest box on the passenger seat of your car, slamming the door shut with your hip as you try and artfully lock the car with the remote without dropping anything.

The apartment block looks fine, clean and white painted on the outside. It’s time.

For the past week and ever since the coffee shop meeting, most of your communication with Frankie had been around the leases and furniture. The apartment is unfurnished but between the two of you, the generosity of your family and friends, and one rushed IKEA online order, you’ve been able to pull together enough between you to ensure the apartment has the basics. 

The door to the apartment is open and you walk in to find Frankie, Benny, Will and Santiago in the main living area assembling a coffee table.

“Hey,” Will says, calling your name cheerfully. Benny immediately jogs over to you to take the box from your arms.

“Where’s this going, sweetheart? We thought you’d be here later.”

“My room,” you say, “which is - crap, which one did we agree on?”

“Yours is the one on the left,” Frankie says, pointing the screwdriver he was holding in the general vicinity of your room.

“I’ll uh - get the rest of my boxes from the car.”

Will quickly stands up to join you, wrapping a comforting arm around you as you make your way back to your car.

“How are you doing?” he asks.

“Good, thanks for all your help.”

“It’s fine, it’s nothing, honest.” Will leans against your car door. “I’m just glad to see you’re in a better place now, getting things together.” It’s the closest you’ve come to discussing the morning you turned up at Will’s hotel room in New York and quietly announced to him that you were leaving your husband. Benny and Will had taken you back to your old townhouse, helped you pack a bag, asked guarded questions about what had changed from the day before when you’d had coffee with them before Benny’s fight that you’d danced around in the same way as you imagined Benny had moved around his opponent the night before. Will organised your flight and had even managed to arrange your seat with them. Benny had distracted you on the flight home with jokes and then when you’d panicked before landing about what on earth you were doing, Benny had quietly reassured you, had even held your hand.

This brotherhood, you realise quickly isn’t about you. The Millers helped you because you were Tom’s sister, you know that. These people are Frankie’s, they are here for him, to get him set up. This is a team effort; this is a family almost. It’s sweet to see; the brotherhood and loyalty between the four of them echoes through the room but doesn’t make you feel a complete spare part either.

 You briefly wonder if Tom would be here if he was alive, helping assemble furniture and move boxes. If he were and if you’re honest, you’re not sure which of the two of you he’d be there for.

Hours later, as Santiago is the last of Frankie’s friends to leave, you look around you. This is real. This is happening.

You wander from your bedroom in the main kitchen living area. Frankie is in his room, so you have a moment to get yourself together. This is your home now too.

You turn on the TV and scroll until you find a show you were partway through. You curl up on the end of the sofa you’ve decided to claim as your own in Frankie’s absence.

This is nice, you think.

Frankie walks out of his room, casually jamming his phone into his jeans pocket. Out of the corner of your eye, you follow him as he opens the fridge to get a drink and then walks over to you.

“Oh, is this the latest episode?” he asks casually, pointing at the TV after artlessly flopping onto the other side of the sofa. “I love this show.”

“Yeah, it is.  - I only just put it on. Do you want me to rewind?”

“Did I miss anything important?”

“Not really, don’t think so.”

“I’m good then.”

It’s going to be okay.

One episode turns into two and that awkward tension you’ve been worried about eases. You notice that Frankie relaxes too, how his arm swings over the top of the sofa and his fingers stop dancing on the sofa.

His phone sounds and he digs it out of his pockets, rapidly typing a response before putting it back.

“It’s Mel, she’s sorting out Thursday. I’ve got Gabby then. I’m staying at hers.” He drops his phone down between the two of you and though the cracked screen, you briefly notice his lock-screen is a photo of a small toddler. Frankie had mentioned Gabby when you had coffee and Ella would probably kill you if you ever told her this, but seeing the genuine love and adoration he had for his daughter weirdly made you feel a little more reassured about the whole roommate idea. You’re not sure if that makes you a terrible feminist, easy prey for a serial killer or just plain naive. Or normal, it could be totally normal, right?

You did also try and grill Frankie on his relationship with his ex and from what he said, and what you may or may not have confirmed with Benny, it seems amicable enough. Must be amicable enough if he’s staying over there.

“She’s adorable,” you say, pointing at his phone.

“Gabby?” Everything about Frankie’s face softens, “She’s amazing, I mean she can be a complete terror, but - yeah, she’s the best.” He trails off towards the end, looks away from you and towards the balcony doors.

You’ve noticed this, the way sometimes Frankie seems to go somewhere else. You’re not stupid, you know where he goes. Your brother wore the same vacant stares for a while.

“Do you want to watch one more episode?” you ask.

“Yeah, let’s do it.” When Frankie smiles, it’s dazzling.

You yawn loudly as you carefully stir your pasta sauce in the pan. You’re so tired. The last few days of work have been busier than usual, plus you’ve had several gruelling calls with your lawyer this week trying to iron out details that seem so trivial, so petty you can hardly believe there are people being paid to debate and agree this. You hate his phone calls; you never sleep well afterwards.

You’re off tomorrow though. Thankfully! To mark the occasion, you’re cooking a real meal tonight; an old pasta recipe you’ve perfected over the years since college.

It feels natural; living here, somehow it already feels more like a home than your old house ever did. It was a gorgeous house in New York, you could admit that, but everything was so sterile, so clean and pristine you felt afraid just breathing would somehow tarnish it.

You’ve been living in the apartment for almost two weeks now. For the first week it reminded you of college; of the first time you lived with strangers, especially boys, and how you used to always make sure you were never in your pyjamas or seen not fully ready in common spaces. You’re older now and there’s only one bathroom so that isn’t really the same concern anymore.

Now, you think you’ve both found some rhythms to your new routines. It feels less stilted - maybe Frankie is even becoming your friend of sorts.

You haven’t mentioned Tom - neither of you have.

Lost in your reverie, you turn around to add the next ingredient and are stunned to find the dish towel on the work surface next to the hob is now alight.

The fire alarm starts.

Your reflex as is to block your ears from the shrill sound rather than attend to the actual issue but you manage to beat that urge and open the kitchen window as wide as you can with one hand as you throw the tea towel in the sink and turn the tap on.

“Crap, crap, crap, crap.”

You smell the pasta sauce next. In the few, short moments you’ve been distracted with almost setting fire to the damn apartment, your sauce has burned.

“No, oh fuck,” you whisper.

The alarm continues to sound as you angrily turn the hob off and grab the pan from the stove, starting at the scene in front of you.

The tea towel steams in the sink with your surely now ruined dinner by the side. It had been going so well; what were you thinking? You couldn’t even be trusted to do the most basic things. You swear this didn’t used to be a problem.

It’s not even your tea towel, it’s Frankie’s which somehow makes it worse. Your failings are bleeding onto him, you must be a terrible roommate. He surely regrets ever allowing this to happen.

There’s an acrid smell of burning, of burnt food, of the burnt towel.

Nate was right about you.

Every bad thought hits you like a punch, clouding your vision, squeezing your lungs until it’s hard to breathe. Your heart is hammering in your chest.

You’re not in your apartment right now, you’re lost in a wave of memories and moments you would want to forget.

“What’s happened?” Frankie says, having come out of his room - no doubt at the sound of the alarm which is continuing to blare loudly.  He looks panicked as he quickly makes his way to the kitchen.

“I -”

“Oh,” he says, sounding surprisingly relieved. It strikes you that perhaps he thought it was something more serious, you’ve probably worried him unnecessarily.          

The alarm stops at last and the resulting silence is somehow worse.

“Fuck,” you say, your voice sounding so small and pathetic. You won’t cry in front of him, you won’t.

“It’s just a cloth,” he says, his voice low and calm. He’s so close to you right now. His presence is steadying and brings the weight back to your body somehow.

“I can’t even prepare something as basic as -”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” His hand hovers over your back, almost nervously for a second before you feel him make contact, gently touch your back to bring you back down to the here and now. “You okay? Didn’t burn yourself?”

“It’s not,” you say fiercely, embarrassment rising that he’s here and being so nice to you about this. “It’s not okay.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Then it is going to be fine,” he replies firmly. “I hated that fucking dish towel.”

“I ruined my pasta sauce. It’s meant to be my best recipe.”

“I burn stuff all the time, sweetheart. All the time.”

“I-”

“C’mon,” Frankie guides you out of the kitchen area over to the sofa.

For a moment you’re not sure why he’s doing this, why he’s being so kind to you. You notice he’s looking down, looking at your hands. They’re trembling and you immediately stuff them into your jean’s pockets. This is so embarrassing.

 “I- uh - I’ve got leftovers if you don’t want to cook tonight anymore, or we can start it again if you really need that pasta today,” Frankie says gently.

“You just told me you burn stuff all the time” you say blankly.

“There she is,” he says with a wry smile, “I take it all back.”  He smiles at you and gently tucks a strand of hair beyond your ear.  You find yourself starting at Frankie’s eyes. His dark eyes are so expressive, almost imploring now. You wonder what he’s thinking about; it must be serious because his brow is furrowed.

He moves suddenly. “I’m going to get a drink; do you want one?”

“Um, sure?”

‘Soda, beer or water?”

“Soda, please.” You pause for a moment before adding” Hey Frankie, what are the leftovers?”

“Pizza,” Frankie says, “From the good place. I didn’t want to cook tonight.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Sunlight frames the kitchen, erasing the drama of the night before.  In this light, things feel brighter, softer even.

Despite it being your day off, you still promptly woke up twenty minutes before your usual alarm but you’ve allowed yourself an extra hour in bed. However now you need coffee.

You place your coffee pot on the stove before moving to rummage through the cupboard for the peanut butter.

Your phone is quietly playing music as you take out some breakfast for yourself; you don’t want to disturb Frankie this early in the morning. Although you spend so much of your working time making coffee for others now, you still love the drink and your morning rituals.

Back in New York, you had an extravagant and high spec espresso machine, but now, even with just your moka pot and cheap milk steamer, it tastes just as good.

As if by magic though, just as the coffee has almost finished bubbling in the pot, you hear Frankie’s door open.

“Morning,” you say brightly. “Coffee? I’m making a pot so you can have some if you want.”

“Even on your day off, huh?”

“Well the moka pot’s easier than the machine at work though.”

“Oh, you’re making it in the moka pot?”

“It tastes better,” you says with a slightly defensive tone to your voice.

“Oh, I know it does,” Frankie says, humming in approval. He walks over, rubbing his eyes drowsily as he approaches you. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt and as he runs his hands through his hair, it exposes the skin between his t-shirt and sweatpants and you - you should not notice this.

“And you’re going to share it?”

“I’ve offered, haven’t I?“ You take the coffee off the hob and finish your preparations.

“Then yes, absolutely. Please. You know you’re actually a great roommate right?”

You laugh before adding,“Well, I did set fire to your dish towel last night.”

“If you’re going to offer me the decent coffee every time you set a teatowel on fire, then I’ll head to Ikea right now.”

“Eh, if you get used to it, it’ll lose the magic.“

“True.”

You finish pouring the milk into the coffee. “Sugar?”

“Two heaped ones, please.”

“Two?”

“Sweet tooth,” he mumbles as he moves behind you  to take his mug of coffee. He accidentally brushes against you, sending a shiver down your spine as he touches your arm. You’re suddenly starkly aware of the fact you’re only in the pair of shorts and a t-shirt you’d been sleeping in.

 “M’sorry,” he grumbles.

“It’s fine,“ you reply quickly, turning around to face him.

“Thanks.” He takes a gulp of coffee, exhaling happily afterwards. “The coffee’s really good.”

You take a sip of your own steaming mug of coffee. “It’s nothing,”you say quietly.

“I uh- better get ready for work,” he says after a moment, “Have a good day off though.” He waves awkwardly as he takes his mug of coffee back to his room.

You lean against the kitchen counter for a moment, taking careful sips of your coffee as you replay the conversation.

[xanadontit]

Oh my GOD. D and I chatted yesterday and her husband has come up with a great idea: pull their kids from day care and he will be a full-time SAHD. Yes, the same man who was blissed out on the patio while his wife wrestled with their toddler, thinks he is up to the task of caring for both children. 

Background: D and her husband both WFH full-time and are remote employees. Meaning, she’d have to drive 2+ hours to even get to her office so it’s not like she can just say “Cool, I’m outta here, be home around 5:30.” They have a four bedroom house but decided not to make any of those rooms an office or even partial office space. They have desks in the family room and sort of work from wherever in the house. Toddler and baby are at the same day care center and doing great. Yes, it’s not cheap but child care for both kids there is less than what they were paying for one child in the Bay Area. 

To my credit I didn’t burst out laughing when she told me this but I did ask “Are you kidding me?” Because here’s how I (and D) see this going: because she will technically be in the house he will expect her to participate in the child care, despite her now having the pressure of being the sole breadwinner (she makes more than he does now and her benefits provide for the entire family). “Hey, can you just change this diaper/distract Toddler/make a sandwich this one time?” But it won’t be one time. And resentment will build on both sides. 

Another thing D brought up is that if they lose his income then there will be also be a shift in budgeting - meaning all his little pricey hobbies will get moved way down the list of priorities. New mountain bikes, golf clubs, and the like will be way after anything the kids need and anything that benefits the entire family, not just him.

I asked D if his reasoning was really based on finances or if he’s not happy with the day care or something and she said “Well, I think there’s some dad guilt there, like he doesn’t spend enough time with them.” OK, cool, maybe instead of getting high in the garage before dinner and golfing all weekend he can spend time with them. The other thing is he doesn’t like his job but doesn’t know what else to do. And like OK I am the last person to say “stay put and be miserable like a REAL ADULT” but I feel like there’s still some options between “sell insurance forever” and “quit and make life harder somehow for my wife.” 

Once again, all this man has to offer is the audacity, I swear to god. 

[thenightlymirror]

Yesterday, we were laughing and useless from the very start. I was sort of glad she was there because, honestly, a lot less gets done.

With our coats on, we give Moulder and Scully vibes. Drew mentioned David Duchovny was another one of the rare men he found hot. We all agreed. Later, I said, “Nobody gets that many freebee’s! If you think David Duchovny is hot: you would suck a dick!” Then we laughed at how that sounded like a rant a thirteen-year-old would make.

We had a bunch of stones in the park to check out, and took the golf cart for its first ride. It’s like a Cadillac of golf carts. It has a windshield, a windshield wiper, a radio. It’s incredible. It was raining and entirely too cold. We went back.

She said, “My seat is wet.” I said, “I know. I enjoyed it too.” Haha

Buck stopped by our window.

“We’re going out to do some rubbings. I usually just do my rubbings in the park alone. She just watches.”

“Unless I’m doing the rubbings myself!”

“Then I watch!”

Buck was very confused.

We often mention how totally fucked we are if either of us decides we are sexually harassing the other. She is very adamant that she is not my boss. She’s kind of my boss, but not really. I mean, it certainly could be a hostile work environment if either of us was attracted to the other. Haha. I think we’re just a case of fast friends. I remember worrying slightly when she started training the memorialist at my old place that she seemed into me. But that hasn’t been a thing. You can tell when someone is into you. It feels horrible.

We went out into 13 to see if an installation had been set. I was walking on the unstable grass, rolled over my ankle, launched myself forward into the air. The way she saw it, I was walking behind her, and then was suddenly in front of her lying on my back, and once on the ground, further collapsed into complete relaxation, like a little death. She was trying not to laugh. I was not really hurt.

My ankle was stiff for the next 24 hours. After work, I did some shopping, then stopped at the beach to watch the tide roar in, and thought about standing on the dock and letting the ten foot waves pull me in. A painful way to die, getting slammed to the bottom and drowned. Best to jump in and breathe as much water in as possible. But my ankle was already sore, and pain didn’t seem very romantic in that moment. It was thrilling though.

Today, we were both inundated again with just how much work there is to do. The day before, she mentioned how freaked out her husband would be if he ever heard one of our conversations. You could sort of see her trying to account for our rapport to herself as well. That’s fine. Her dad is bipolar, and an alcoholic. I think that I’m bipolar, but safe, so it’s a bit of a headfuck in that regard. I think that’s the hook.

She brought a jalapeño croissant egg sandwich that her grandmother made specifically for me. Hell yes. She put another one in the fridge for Andrew, because she doesn’t like them. After she left for the day, I went out in the golf cart to the garage to check on a marker. For the second day in a row, one of the new groundsmen has called me specifically to inform me that he found a veteran bronze left on the floor in the garage under a bunch of debris. I could not find it this morning, but he had remembered more, and I found it. It was like he was calling in a side-quest. It was in a cardboard box under a bunch of mouse shit. From 2018. Good job, Sean.

Buck walked in, caught me on my way to the golf cart. We took a joyride around the park listening to yacht rock on the little radio. Buck was absorbed in the news that there had been a drone attack on the Kremlin, but he accidentally said “Crimea” at first, so I couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on. We essentially reiterated the entire conversation we had the first morning we talked, about the prospects for revolution in America. World news gets him worked up. I feel a little more like capitalism has seeped so deeply into the logic of every little thing that happens, that nothing really ever happens. The machine just makes a lot of noise as the parts loosen up and slam into one another as it wears down. Calamity can happen, must happen, but not because of any decisions anyone makes. We just don’t make decisions anymore.

That’s something along the lines of what I would have said, but I was mostly listening to Buck vent.

[blog-reflection]

ONE / ELEVEN - A Genius Plan

Soo, where do I begin?

I decided to go up in my room and grab things I need for like about one, maybe two weeks. I took Henry, chargers but also clothes as well as my plushie bee I just called Majesty. I’ve thrown the loaded back down the stairs and almost threw myself with it. Once down, I grabbed and saved anything I could from the fridge. Luckily, unlike my bag, it wasn’t loaded. I checked every room before throwing on that new jacket and getting out of the house via the garage to get my bike. It was a black bike with white feels and a basket in front of the handlebar which was decorated with fake flowers. I threw the bag on the back of my bike and semi secured it with some string I found in the garage. I put my bag as well as a small music box in the basket and made sure Majesty will be secured as well, I really don’t want to miss out on her. I exited the home and turned left. During the ride I listened to a lot of music and just enjoyed the ride. Yes it was fall, yes it could have been warmer and yes it lowkey socket but it was also lowkey nice. It took me around 40 minutes to get to Shepherdswell but damn was I happy to be here. Back in the days I was driving to my grandparents all summer. They took me to the beach, to the city and sometimes even to London. It was a nice time. I placed my bike in the gateway and went to the door to knock, a couple of seconds later, my granny opened the door.

Thea: William? James: Hi Granny.

The entire ride I was thinking about how to tell them, how to say hi, but now? It all came out so naturally. I stepped closer to Thea and gave her a big hug.

Thea: James? Why are you here? Why is your bike so full of stuff? James: Oh can’t I just visit you? I wanted to surprise you.

I made sure to come across nice and innocent, but I haven even a bigger one for them. Thea went inside and I went to my bike to grab my bags. I put my bike next to the door and went inside. I let loose of the big bag in the hallway and walked into the kitchen so I could store the food in it.

James: Hey Granny, where’s Joe? Josepphe: I’m right here boy.

I looked around and noticed my grand dad standing in the door frame.

Josepphe: James what are you doing? James: Oh I just wanted to come around, you know, do some surprise cooking. Josepphe: Let me guess, beef with your mum? James: What? No, I really just wanted to give my two favourite old people a visit. Is that so hard to believe? Josepphe: Alright alright, then what meal are you doing? James: Depending, do you have rice?

Both of us started laughing really loud, even Thea joined in. It was a nice time. We all ate Lunch and then played some games, mostly card games, till the moon started rising. We cleaned it all up and then started to prepare dinner all together. Josepphe cut some veggies, Thea prepared the meat and I took care of the sauce. It’s all like it used to be when I was little. I am even sitting on the counter. Once everything was done I started to get the table ready and tried to decorate it a bit. I wandered through the living room looking for candles and a small candelabra. After a couple of seconds I spotted one right on the shelf. I carefully grabbed it and placed it in the middle of the desk. I also went outside to get some, more or less pretty flowers. The table looked pretty, I mean it. It had a lot of cottage living vibes while also looking sort of elegant, but that’s mainly due to the candelabra. We again, ate our meals and finished off with some wine and a tesco dessert. It’s been great. 

I headed to my old room for the night, it wasn’t prepared so I had to do that first. It was then when I realised that I haven’t looked at my phone since I arrived. I grabbed it from the floor, since it fell out of my pocket and turned it on. Spotify was still open, streaming a variety of songs from a shuffled mix I don’t know. The battery was almost dead, leaving me with 15% charge and docent messages from Jesse. FUCK. I WAS SUPPOSED TO MESSAGE JESSE ONCE I ARRIVED. I Ignored their messages and started calling them.

Jesse: You are such a mess sometimes. James: Hi yeah… I ehm...I might have forgotten. I’m sorry. Jesse: All fine, at least now I know you haven’t been murdered during the ride by a random dude with an axe. James: You, my friend, are watching too many movies. Jesse: I am an adult I can watch movies whenever I want to! Also, you never know. James: Okay topic change, it worked! I’m currently at my grandparents and no one is sus.  Jesse: Well, you are a pretty good liar I have to say. Not sure if that’s a good thing but in that case, well done! What’s your plan now? James: Weeelll I am not so sure. I brought Henry with me so maybe just browse until I find some apartments that I could visit.  Jesse: THAT’S IT!!! James: “THAT IS WHAT”? Jesse: Suggest a trip to Brighton for a week with them, it’s a gift from me. How about that? James: You are brilliant! That is a genius plan! Taking them to Brighton saves so much time not gonna lie! Jesse: So tell me everything, I got time now….

Jesse and I were talking for what felt like hours. I told them everything that happened at home, they updated me on their life. Apparently Jesse is getting close with a girl they know from their course. I don’t think they mean it in a romantic way though, otherwise they wouldn’t have told me. As open as we are Jesse never talks about who they date. I could be a dick and just look up the classes on Henry but..well who am I kidding. I booted up Henry and browsed through the Royal Holloway classes of Jesse's year. Usually the classes for Video Games Arts and Design are always loaded but that year was rather chill. There are only 48 out of 60

People in the courses, probably less knowing a lot of people don’t even attend lectures. Let's see…. We have 4 people that did not fill in any gender so I assume they are somewhere under the non-binary umbrella, so Jesse will love it there. The rest are split into 29 girls and 27 boys. But all in all they seem like a nice class so whoever the lucky one is to be friends with my best friend, she must be cool then! I browsed a bit through some pages of B&Bs to stay until I finally fell asleep. 

I got woken up by the smell of coffee and bacon with a small note of pancakes. I put on my shirt and ran down into the kitchen. Unlike last time there wasn’t much. Just a typical English breakfast. But that is great too! I took some pancakes and beans and ate rather fast. I found an awesome B&B and I really wanted to tell them. That’s when Joe spoke up.

Josepphe: James? What would you say to a trip? Just for a week. Your work must be pretty hard and I assume you haven’t had a proper vacation for now. James: You are right, there was no vacation. What are you planning on? Josepphe: Well, since you look for apartments in Brighton I thought we could go there? We could visit the beach or go shopping in between the apartments. What do you say? James: That’s amazing! I actually already looked around, I kinda wanted to surprise you but well works that way too haha Josepphe: Alright big boy, get your stuff, we will meet in two hours so we can get there by train, I’ll get us a taxi! James: Alright!

It didn’t take long to get everything ready since I haven’t even unboxed my bag. I changed into more appropriate clothes then a long shirt and boxer shorts and made my way downstairs. Josepphe and Thea were waiting in the living room, yet there was only one bag. Joe said granny can’t get with us because of her walking issue, which is fair. We waited another ten minutes outside before the taxi arrived. We hugged Thea goodbye and placed ourselves in the taxi which drove us right in front of the Dover main station. We went through the gates and on the train.

I can’t wait to be in Brighton

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony’s Stupid Daily Blog (421): Fri 12th May 2023

Went for an hour long run after work today. I know that I said for the next month I would limit myself to 30 minute runs but tonight I had a bit of extra energy and I wanted to really push myself to lose a sizeable amount of weight tonight. Combined with the fact that throughout the day all I had to eat were two breakfast biscuits, two apples and half a bowl of cereal I figured I had a good chance of making a real difference in my weight loss challenge. To make sure I didn’t injure my calf muscle again like last time I decided to take things super slow and what I went for tonight couldn’t really be classified as a run or a jog, it was basically the next step up from a power walk. I’m already feeling less bloated after a week of dieting and running but I think I need to stop weighing myself as it may prove to be my downfall. I ate hardly anything today and ran for half an hour and yet when I weighed myself after the run it was saying I weighed more than I did before the run. I put the scale in three different spots in the living room and it gave me three different weights: one saying I was heavier, one saying I was lighter and one saying I was exactly the same. I think from now on my gauge for how I’m doing with this diet should just be if I feel better and off my pants fit better because relying on the scale is becoming problematic as it sometimes makes me think that the diet isn’t working. I’m definitely feeling a lot slimmer and surprisingly I’m still not having any cravings. On day one I was making all sorts of excuses in my head as to why I could postpone the diet for another week and get stuck into a giant pizza but somehow I managed to resist the urge to do so and now I’m at the stage where I’m not even craving food. I also feel a lot more clear headed and less worrisome since I started taking my anti-anxiety drugs. Yesterday when I left the house I only returned from the garage to make sure I locked the front door four times which for me is huge because normally it’s like seven or eight.

One of the most tragic unsolved crimes in Sunderland history was finally out to bed tonight as a man was found guilty of murdering Nikki Allan. Allan was coming home from her grandmothers house in 1992 when she was murdered and her body disposed of in the Old Exchange Building. I remember learning about Allan because of a mural graffitied on the side of a building near where her body was found. I was obviously saddened by what happened to her but I have always been doubtful that the killer would ever be caught due to the amount of time that had passed. During his trial, when questioned as to how his DNA was found on Allan’s body the now convicted man replied that she must have fell in his saliva which was there because he spat off his balcony that night. How the fuck would anyone remember spitting off their balcony at a particular time on a specific date 30 years prior? Anyway, finally this evil prick has been locked up after evading justice for so long and now Nikki’s mother can hopefully move on with her life after 30 years of Hell.

[slasherhaven]

Slashers reaction to the reader referring to them as their boyfriend/partner to other people for the first time?

The Slashers reacting to their S/O referring to them as their Boyfriend/Girlfriend to other people for the first time:

Thomas Hewitt

It was no secret that you and Tommy were together, always by each other’s side, acting lovesick. 

Luda May wasn’t shy about voicing your relationship, already referring to you as Thomas’ partner and to Thomas as your boyfriend, she already had her mind set on a future of weddings and grandbabies. 

Her talk had always made the two of you flustered and embarrassed, neither of you really confirming her claims of your relationship.

You had been down at the gas station with Luda May and Thomas, she had asked Thomas to come to help move some crates and you had already been there to help her watch the place.

A group of travellers had pulled in, getting some gas and stocking up on snacks.

Being a friendly and trustworthy face, you were sent out to greet them and ask if they needed assistance. Thomas had been lifting another crate and had looked over to you, always protective over you, especially when it came to strangers. Eventually one of the men had commented on Tommy’s staring as he worked, scoffing to himself.

“Oh, that’s Tommy, my boyfriend. He’s just a little protective, you never know the type you might run into ‘round here” you reassured them with a smile, fully knowing that it was the Hewitt family that nobody wanted to run into around here.

Of course, Thomas overheard you, and your declaration instantly made him blush, quickly busying himself with his work again.

He’s overjoyed though, hearing you refer to him as your boyfriend, sounding so proud of him, he loved you so much and each day you convinced him that you felt the same. He also likes that these strangers know that you’re together.

Michael Myers

You were seeing some friends and Michael had gotten bored, heading out to find you and continue with his usual stalker shenanigans since he seems to enjoy stalking you when he’s bored and you’ve left him at home. He saw you talking to some of your friends, you were saying goodbye.

They had tried to get you to stay a little longer but you had smiled, telling them that you had to get home to your boyfriend. Of course they had demanded to finally meet this mysterious boyfriend but you shook your head at them before heading home, where Michael would already be when you arrived.

So, you had been referring to him as your boyfriend to your friends for a little while...he isn’t going to bring it up, he’ll act like he never heard it, like he was at home this whole time.

He won’t say anything but he ponders it for a moment, if that’s how you want to refer to him...he’s more than okay with that. Maybe more okay with it than he would admit to himself.

Jason Voorhees

You had gone on a walk through the woods and had wandered into the old camp. You hadn’t been aware of intruders but accidently stumbled upon a group of trespassers who had just arrived and where getting bags out of their car.

The group had turned to you, surprised but friendly. You, on the other hand, panicked a little, knowing you shouldn’t interact with them too much. Jason would be coming to deal with them some time soon. 

“Uh sorry...I was just looking for my boyfriend...bye!” you practically ran off, back towards the cabin, knowing that Jason would want you to be somewhere safe and out of the way. 

Jason had seen it all from his hidden spot in the trees. At first he had been worried when you stumbled upon the group, worried that you would get hurt or something.

But his heart fluttered when he heard you referring to him as your boyfriend, liking the way it sounded and how it made him feel.

You had been staying with him for a while now and the two of you had become close, certainly entering a more romantic relationship. But that was the first time you had used the title, and you had done so with so much ease.

Yes, he was your boyfriend, and he adored you.

Brahms Heelshire

You and Brahms were certainly dating, at least he definitely thought so and believed that you did too.

The delivery boy had come with your most recent grocery delivery, and you had answered the door. 

The two of you were chatting for a while, slowly irritating Brahms, who was sure that the delivery boy had a thing for you.

You had never really thought the delivery boy liked you but he was getting friendlier lately and you knew how much it bothered Brahms, so you had just casually slipped in some talk about your boyfriend (not mentioning Brahms’ name of course), just to get the point across to both of them.

The delivery boy had always been friendly and that had always made Brahms a little jealous but now that the man knows that you have a boyfriend, Brahms feel more confident that he won’t try anything and it makes him just a little less jealous.

Brahms is looking pretty smug when you close the front door and he comes to greet you, you barely have the chance to roll your eyes at him before he’s pulling you into a kiss. 

You can’t help but smile fondly at how proud and happy he seems with his new title.

Bo Sinclair

You and Bo had been getting closer, what you had definitely wasn’t ‘casual’ but neither of you had really talked about it. Bo didn’t like talking about that kind of stuff and you didn’t want to bring it up and put him in a bad mood. 

It was fine...until a group of visitors arrived in Ambrose.

It wouldn’t be the first time that a woman had flirted with Bo and he had allowed it, even flirted back to lull the strangers into a false sense of security. This would be the first time it made you jealous and you had every right to feel that way.

The flirtatious woman had laid it on fairly thick, Bo had only chuckled but hadn’t really returned the flirtations. You appreciated that but you still wished he would just tell her to stop or be a little less encouraging. You understood, you just didn’t like it.

Bo was looking at their car while you went to tell the group what was going on, telling them that ‘your boyfriend was just checking their car and should be done soon, he’s very good at his job’. You saw how the woman pulled a face at that, which satisfied you at least a little.

Bo had already been on his way over and had overheard how you had referred to him, making him smirk to him, both because of the title but also because of your jealousy. 

Now, he just had to mess with you.

He walked over, announcing that their car needed a new fan-belt as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his side.

You knew that he was being extra obvious in front of the woman, probably more to mess with you than anything, and you knew that he was going to tease you for this later on...but at least he was showing off your relationship in front of these strangers.

Vincent Sinclair 

When visitors to Ambrose came by, Vincent would watch from a distance (especially when it came to you, just to make sure you were safe). 

He’d listen to conversation he could catch, and he was currently listening to you speaking with the group about their car that they needed help with.

“Sure, I’ll just get my boyfriend, Vincent, to go pick up your car” you told the group politely with a smile.

Vincent was taken back by how you referred to him as your boyfriend, and how you did it so causally. He wondered if you knew he was listening, that he could hear you.

Obviously the two of you had gotten very close as of late, sharing more than a couple romantic moments, but you had never brought up the topic.

It’s fair to say that Vincent is a little flustered when he next sees you but you had truly made his day, made his week even.

Lester Sinclair

You were in Ambrose when a pair of strangers walked into the garage, telling you that their car broke down and some guy gave them a lift into down, saying that his brother owned the garage. 

“I’m guessing it was my boyfriend who gave you a ride” you chuckled fondly, obviously knowing that it was Lester but keeping up some sort of act. 

“Yeah, he did” Lester beamed proudly as he walked into the garage behind the pair. 

You blushed a little, getting a little flustered by getting caught referring to him as your boyfriend, not that he seemed to mind.

When he heard the way you referred to him, it just put a huge smile on his face. He kind of knew that he was your boyfriend but this was the first time you had actually said it.

He greeted you warmly, pulling you into a hug and kissing your cheek, still beaming. It was sweet really. If Bo had seen, he probably would have gagged.

Bubba Sawyer

The brothers had been bickering and arguing, which was nothing new. Of course, you had started to defend Bubba, since he was pretty unconfrontational.

Drayton had scoffed and complained about you defending Bubba. 

You had just responded with “well, he is my boyfriend”, without even thinking about it.

Nobody else (other than Bubba) was surprised by the word ‘boyfriend’. Just rolling their eyes at you and continuing with their bickering.

Bubba had the biggest smile on his face.

He accepts his new position as your boyfriend instantly. Yes, he is your boyfriend and he loves you so much.

He just gets a little giddy and wants to give and receive a lot of affection from you after that.

Billy Lenz 

You had been on the phone with a friend. They had invited you out for the evening but you had politely declined, telling them that you were spending the night in with your boyfriend.

Of course, Billy had been listening in on the conversation, and as soon as you referred to him as your boyfriend he was grinning like an idiot.

It was more than obvious that the two of you were in fact dating, you just hadn’t put a name on it and Billy hadn’t really thought to do so. He felt like you had just made the relationship official, but he was more giddy at the thought of other people knowing that he was your boyfriend, that you would talk about him so fondly to your friends.

As soon as you put the phone down, Billy is on you, wrapping you up in his embrace, making you giggle as you returned the gesture, wondering what had gotten into him.

“I’m your boyfriend” he stated proudly, grinning from ear to ear before peppering your face with kisses, making you giggle again.

“Yes you are” you agreed fondly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Asa Emory (The Collector)

You were at Asa’s home when you got a phone call from a friend, asking if you wanted to hang out that evening but you already had plans with Asa. And that’s what you told them.

“Sorry, I’m spending the evening with my boyfriend” you told them, smiling when they complained about not having met your boyfriend yet.

As soon as you hung up, Asa appeared next to you, holding out a drink for you. You couldn’t help but get a little flustered, knowing he had heard and also knowing that you hadn’t really defined your relationship like that yet.

“You could have told me” was all he really responded with as he sat down beside you. Clearly not minding the way you referred to him.

Asa isn’t an idiot, he knew that’s where your relationship was, he just hadn’t brought up the conversation yet. Now it seemed like it didn’t have too, and that was good to know.

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull)

You had decided to visit Jesse at his office, which he had told you that you could do whenever you pleased. When you arrive and were asking for him and the location of his office, you were met by a woman who seemed pretty hostile about your presence.

You definitely didn’t want to cause any trouble at Jesse’s work but she was being rude and you were getting tired, you just wanted to visit Jesse for lunch. 

“Look, I’m just here to visit my boyfriend, I’ll just call him and let him know I’m here” you sighed, about to give up as you pulled your phone out of your pocket.

Luckily, Jesse had just been passing through the reception and had witnessed the end of your conversation. Smirking to himself when you referred to him as your boyfriend.

He approached before you could unlock your phone, tucking it away again as you smiled up at him. 

Jesse nods to the woman, placing a hand on your back before guiding you up to his office.

Once you’re alone, he will playfully question you about how you had referred to him. After messing with you a bit and making you a little flustered, he reassures you that it’s perfectly fine. He is happy to call himself your boyfriend and to call you his partner.

From then on, everyone knows who you are and that Jesse is your boyfriend. You won’t be stopped or questioned again, don’t worry.

Otis Driftwood

You and Otis had gone to a nearby bar together, just to get out of the house and have a little fun. You had wandered over to the bar without him and when Otis looked over, he saw some guy flirting with you.

Jealousy and protectiveness (maybe some possessiveness) had Otis marching over to the two of you. 

“Uh, yeah sorry, I have a boyfriend” he heard you tell the man, shifting away from him in discomfort. You glanced around and relaxed when you saw Otis approaching. “There he is!” you smiled brightly, you were quick to push yourself away from the bar and meet Otis.

He instantly wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close to him, protectively and possessively as he glared the man down.

Damn right, he’s your boyfriend. And he’ll make sure everyone here knows it.

You had never actually called him that before, never actually made whatever the two of you had official. But now you had, that’s all he had to know.

Baby Firefly

You and Baby had gone out to a bar to have a few drinks and probably cause some trouble. She was dancing even though nobody else was, just her, having a great time, as you watched on adoringly.

Some guy and come up beside you and asked who she was. 

With a grin, you had proudly exclaimed “that’s my girlfriend!” 

Of course, Baby had heard you and smiled about it to herself.

Once she finished dancing, she returned to you and the same guy moved closer, introducing himself to her and asking for her to introduce herself in return. 

“I’m their fucking girlfriend” Baby stated proudly with a grin of her own, wrapping her arms around you as if to get her point across even more.

Yautja (Predator)

Of course introducing your family or your friends to your current partner (or ‘mate’, as he would call you) wasn’t really an option at the moment. But you had mentioned that you were seeing someone.

You were on the phone to a friend when they started asking about this mysterious person you had been seeing.

So, finally you told them to give your boyfriend some privacy, the two of you laughing before ending the call.

He had been referring to you as his mate for a while now and you assumed that was the same level, if not even more serious, than the title of boyfriend, so you figured it was okay.

And your mate thought so too. He knew what ‘boyfriend’ meant since you explained human dating to him, so when he heard, he knew what you meant and it just filled him with pride, knowing that you definitely felt the same as him.

[mithrilhearts]

PLOT BUNNY #5 ↳ FUCK THY NEIGHBOR

Summary: Bilbo and Thorin have a past, one that spans no longer than one wild evening which resulted in far too many drinks, a 24 hour chapel, and not knowing the other’s last name. They both thought they could simply ‘deal with it later’. When ‘later’ finally arrives, they must learn how to co-exist now as neighbors, but also as accidental newly weds.

If you want to see this fic in the future, be sure to like, reblog, and/or comment! Feedback is welcome, and I can’t wait to see what fic wins the raz2k! Check out the MASTERPOST to see the other plot bunnies!

Bilbo was honored to be helping Drogo and Primula out with their wedding. Supplying a quiet yard for a small ceremony of family and a few friends was perfect, and the Baggins family house was definitely a sight unlike any other. The gorgeous craftsmanship had only grown more charming as the years passed by. Bungo had spared no expense when it came to getting the dream house that Belladonna had wanted and more. Now it was passed along to Bilbo and was the hot spot for any family gathering.

“It will be perfect! Thank you so much again, Bilbo,” Drogo was genuine as he swung his fiance’s hand in his own, wandering around the backyard and envisioning just where everything could go. Prim had an idea of what she wanted, but it was nice to play a part in the planning process.

“Of course, anything for you guys. And if you need help with actually getting things set up the day of, you know I’ll be here for whatever you need.”

Prim darted forward to smash a kiss to the side of Bilbo’s face, squishing him tightly in the process. “You’re the best!” She squeaked before wiping at Bilbo’s cheek to try and remove the remnants of her chapstick away.

“Yeah, yeah, just remember that when it’s time to start naming kids, yeah?” Bilbo teased as he put up with Prim’s antics easily, and had for a long time now. This wasn’t exactly a new sort of friendship in Bilbo’s life. Prim had been a staple in the life of the Baggins’ since they were all relatively small, after all.

“There’s only a few weeks left until the big day—“ The loud sound of a moving truck pulling into the driveway next door was enough to cut Drogo off. All attention turned to the formerly vacant house that had sat that way for a few months now. “Someone finally buy the old Cottonwood house?”

“Apparently,” Bilbo shrugged, knowing next to nothing about the purchase. All he knew was that it had been noisy the past few days, but he’d never investigated anything beyond that. “This at least means the lawn can be taken care of. It makes the street look bad otherwise.”

“You would care about the lawn maintenance of others,” Prim teased, giving Bilbo’s side a small tweak. “Just look at that vegetable garden of yours!” 

It was one of Bilbo’s favorite pastimes. Gardening and ensuring the yard looked immaculate. That was a great reason why this yard was suitable for the ceremony in a few weeks’ time.

“Are you going to introduce yourself, Bilbo? Could do the neighborly thing and take one of your blueberry pies, even!”

Prim had always been excitable, and as Bilbo chuckled, he was waving the two slightly younger lovebirds inside. “We’ll see.”

“If you made one for the wedding too, I wouldn’t complain. You did say anything for us, right?”

“I’m going to regret saying that, aren’t I?” Bilbo sighed with a roll of his eyes as everyone shuffled their way inside and into Bilbo’s kitchen for a proper cup of tea. It was that time of day, after all.

The noise throughout teatime from outside was incomparable to the days prior, and Bilbo found himself growing increasingly annoyed. Sounds of stomping against the metal ramp leading from the ground to the moving truck, and then of course some music was blasting from the neighbor’s garage. It made for a less than satisfactory cup of tea.

Grinding his teeth while seated on the sofa, Drogo seated next to him and scrolling through his phone, Bilbo finally let out a heavy sigh before Prim began to giggle by the window.

“Oh, he’s cute.”

“Aren’t you getting married in a few weeks?” Bilbo grouched, leaning back to spot Prim with puffed out cheeks of annoyance in his direction before a childish tongue flew out in his direction.

“I don’t mean for me, I mean for you.” 

This made Bilbo pause mid-sip of his tea, fixing Prim with yet another look before slowly moving to his feet, teacup in hand. “I’m not interested in the dating game, not to mention, you can’t just assume my new neighbor swings that way just because you’ve peeked at him for ten minutes through my windows.”

“I have a feeling,” Prim sniffed proudly as she waved Bilbo over to peek through the blinds just as she was. “Just take a look at him!”

And much to Bilbo’s dismay, he did exactly as the excitable young woman wanted, sipping at his teacup and dropping his head to peek through the blinds with squinted eyes. Though as he got a look around the stacked up boxes and pieces of furniture, the teacup he had been holding slipped from his grasp and his throat felt as if it immediately closed up.

It was a feeling akin to an upset stomach and a migraine, which was a dreadful combination. Bilbo didn’t even have a fit as his favorite teacup dropped to the floor with a crash, leaving little porcelain shards flying around the wood floors like confetti–but it had startled his guests.

“Bilbo? What’s wrong?” Drogo asked from the sofa, immediately turning to try and see what the commotion was all about. It wasn’t like Bilbo to be so careless after all.

“This is the part where I would tease you about how he took your breath away to an extreme level…but you look like you’re about to hurl,” Prim spoke far more gingerly than she had been before as her hand was rubbing circles against Bilbo’s back. “Come on, take a seat, tell us what the problem is.”

“I know him!” Bilbo finally shrieked, not quite proud of the sound that came out of his throat as his hands flew up towards his head, a panic settling into the pit of his stomach. “He’s…he can’t be…that’s…” Bilbo felt as if he were shoved underwater, his head swimming and trying to keep up with nothing more than a few vague memories flashing behind his eyelids.

Memories from Drogo’s bachelor party a few weeks ago. Bright lights, far too many drinks, a cheap ring that turned his finger green almost immediately, and a consequence that Bilbo had yet to truly take care of.

The shattered teacup was cleaned up, as well as the contents formerly within, and Bilbo was quickly laid across the sofa with a cold cloth draped over his forehead. Perhaps it was a bit dramatic, but this was one of those one-in-a-million chances that were currently kicking him in the teeth right about now.

“Care to let us in on the secret now?” Drogo pushed as he and Prim were staring with both concern as well as confusion, trying to figure out what could send respectable and relatively calm Bilbo Baggins to such a state. 

“Do you remember…anything about your bachelor party from a few weeks ago?”

“I remember I had fun, most of it is a blur though.”

“Well, Hamfast and I spent a good chunk of the night watching people, and he kept teasing me about not being social enough, that I wouldn’t be able to find anyone in the room that caught my eye. He said I was single and sad and I took off,” Bilbo wheezed, his voice sounding more strained than he liked as he pried the cloth away from one of his eyes. “You were three sheets to the wind by then I’m sure, or you would have defended me.”

“And?” it was Prim’s turn to press for further information. “What does this have to do with your new neighbor?”

Bilbo sighed heavily with all of the weight of the world on his shoulders in the process, as that’s what it truly felt like.

“That guy next door? That’s my husband.”

==========

A few weeks prior…

“It’s Vegas! A whole weekend of bad choices and things you won’t remember. You gotta have some fun, ya know? Just take a look around, we’ve been to three bars already and not a single person has caught your eye,” Hamfast teased, slapping a hand against Bilbo’s shoulder as they sat at one end of their party’s table, the other half trying to keep Drogo sitting upright.

“Someone has to be the responsible one,” Bilbo huffed, still a tad prickly even with his mind buzzed from a few drinks already. This was about having fun though, it had been said to him time and time again, and the more Hamfast pressed him on his social skills, the more agitated Bilbo became. “Besides, I’m not looking for anyone. I’m perfectly happy the way I am.”

“So, single and sad, got it. You need to step outside of your comfort zone sometime, Bilbo! Socialize, go say hi to someone, stop being so afraid.”

“I’m not afraid.”

The words made Bilbo’s cheeks puff out in annoyance, just as they turned a tad rosy in embarrassment. Hamfast was a great friend, but he certainly had no issue in calling things out for what they were. Bilbo pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his empty glass in the process.

“Where are you going?”

“To get something else, dealing with you makes my head spin more than these drinks, so I gotta fix that,” Bilbo grouched as he moved through the crowd to give himself a bit of alone time at the bar in a place where being ‘alone’ was a rare treat.

It was a small establishment, bright lights from nearly every corner and just a dash of dry ice lingering about for added atmosphere, and  Bilbo hardly paid attention as he moved up towards the bar. Perching on his seat and shouting over the music and other patrons, Bilbo was presented with a drink that was stronger than his taste buds typically liked, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, could they? Besides, it did have a few extra olives sticking out of it, and any drink presented with edible garnish was good in his books.

A snack and a drink.

Plucking the toothpick out of his overly dirty martini and biting off one olive, those hazel eyes just glanced around after twisting in his seat, finally taking in the crowd instead of remaining in his own secluded little bubble. Why was Hamfast teasing him so much? Would it be shitty to go back to the hotel room already? Calling Prim would not be a wise idea to voice his complaints, but it was an option–

“Long day?” The bartender asked upon the approach of another patron.

“Yeah, fucking terrible. Make mine a double, and a shot of Jameson while you’re at it.”

The voice next to him cut through Bilbo’s garbled and fuzzy train of thought, and as he looked towards the fellow next to him who had his attention on the bartender, the second olive that Bilbo had gone to swallow definitely went down the wrong pipe.

Long dark curls were pulled back into the messiest bun revealing a strong jaw coated in dark facial hair, an attractive pointed nose…and then there were those eyes. So strikingly blue that practically glowed as the neon lights within the bar seemed to change now and again. It was offensive, but not in the lethal sort of way like a near-deadly olive.

After a few coughs and tears pricking at the corners of Bilbo’s eyes, a heavy pat landed on his back, and for a moment he thought it was Hamfast, but the voice that spoke didn’t match his friend, but that of the dark-haired beauty that had sauntered up next to him–though sauntered would be a bit of a stretch. Stomped was more like it considering the ‘fuck you’ attitude this guy radiated.

“You alright, man?” 

“I’m…yes,” Bilbo wheezed, rubbing at his eyes to get rid of the tears and trying to get a grip on his mind as it swirled. “Thanks.”

“Richard makes one hell of a martini, you’re not the first to choke on it. Does it on purpose I think, he’s a dick.”

“Is…is that a joke? A dick joke?” And for a second, Bilbo wished he could swallow the words back and not have said anything at all, but the response he got was…less attitude.

And oh, the way he smiled, half-hearted as it was. “I suppose it is, yeah.”

Awkward as he felt, Bilbo kept shifting his eyes to the side to glance at his handsome stranger–yes, his–and was fully taking in everything he was seeing. It took only a few seconds for a lightbulb to flash on in his head, the choice of attire this fellow wore just screamed construction of some sort. No wonder he was visibly tired and a tad grouchy.

The bright orange and yellow vest, and never mind the fact that it was open and revealing, all Bilbo was zeroing in on was the idea that this man knew his construction business. That meant landscaping, and that meant gardens, which opened a door for Bilbo to crash through as far as conversation went.

Hamfast was going to get an earful about Bilbo’s social skills later on!

“You must work a lot!” Bilbo finally piped up, tapping his fingers anxiously on the bar and averting his gaze slightly from his barstool neighbor. “It’s got to be a lot of hard work, physically exhausting…hot…and underappreciated.”

“Tell me about it. It’s not my first choice or my second…but it helps pay the bills.” The other fellow sighed, grumbling something about the ‘ridiculous costumes’ his job entailed, but the words seemed to breeze right past Bilbo’s ears without any thought.

“Well, you have my respect. I know it’s a lot, and I’m sure you deal with a lot of shitty people too.”

There was a pause in words before a hand was stuck out towards Bilbo. “Thorin.”

Taking the offered hand, Bilbo gave it a small shake, feeling Thorin’s firm grip against his hand as little sparks danced across his skin. “Bilbo, it’s nice to meet you, Thorin. Can I buy your next drink? Looks like you need it, and just…consider that my appreciation for what you do.”

“You’re not the first person to try this tonight. I get enough of it at work and I’m not in the mood–”

“I’m not…oh! I’m not trying to be forward with you! Just appreciative, I also wanted to…I don’t know, prove to someone that I can hold a conversation, but I guess I can’t even do that much.” Or perhaps Hamfast would win the bragging rights for the night. Handsome as this Thorin was and wandering as Bilbo’s thoughts might have been, his intentions were completely innocent.

For now.

“Alright, alright. One drink.”

“One drink and I get to ask you about landscaping.”

And while Thorin’s brows knit together in confusion at the words, he simply shrugged his shoulders and played along, ready for a one-drink-worthy conversation (after his already acquired one) about grass or whatever it was this odd little fellow wanted to talk about.

If only it had stayed to one drink and a talk about plants.

[dalishthunder]

Tying the Knot

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Moon/Reader/Sun (Reader is not referred to with gendered language but is afab) Words: 2281

Contains choking, bondage, and breeding kink

_______________________

Maybe it had been your own fault for dropping your phone in the sink. Maybe it had just been Karma kicking in your door for all of the cringe shit you did as a teenager. Maybe it had just been the luck of the draw and you'd drawn short.... But ruminating on what you had done to deserve it, did not in fact change the very real fact that your mother had dropped by for the weekend.

Out of the blue.

Wanted to see how her precious baby was doing.

This is what you got for not visiting during the holidays, wasn't it?

Worse still was that you had neglected to tell her about your... living situation with Sun and Moon (much less about the things that you got up to behind closed doors). So when you answered your door, it took every ounce of your willpower not to just slam it right shut and hide your roommate (Lover? Partner?) somewhere out of sight.

But like a gracious host you invited her in with a hug, and hoped beyond hope that Sun wasn't going to come back in from working in his garden anytime soon. The last thing you needed was your mother blabbing on social media about him... or worse if she knew what sort of relationship you were in with a goddamn robot.

You'd managed to excuse yourself for a moment, saying you were going to go find her something to drink, and running outside to explain the situation to Sun. He was ecstatic, though he moped when you told him that you weren't going to tell your mother that you were romantically involved. She just... wouldn't understand.

You'd promised to make it up to him, up to them.

The conversation remained polite, asking about the job you'd been working since the Plex burned down, asking about your plans for the future, asking when you'd gotten so good at robotics, and of course the obligatory, "Are you seeing anyone?"

You nearly choked on your food, Sun's hand patting your back just a little harder than needed.

"Now that's a very interesting question, Ma'am. Why don't you tell the answer to that, Stardrop? Are you seeing anybody?" His voice was sickly sweet as though goading you to answer one way or another so you just laughed nervously.

"Well gosh darn, everyone, ain't this a-, uh, a free c-country? What- What, uh, even," You gulped, "Constitutes 'seeing' anybody? You know I can't uh... be tied down by the, um... the man."

Your mother stared at you, then shook her head a little, "Does that mean I can or can't expect grandchildren soon? I'm not gettin' any younger, y'know." It was meant to be teasing, you realized in hindsight, but in the moment you felt like you were going to explode into pieces so small they'd need a Hadron Collider to see any remnants.

You shot up from your chair, loudly declaring that you needed to use the bathroom, and proceeded to lock yourself in for fifteen minutes cursing your lack of phone. When you'd finally worked up the nerve to leave, Sun was nowhere to be seen, and your mother declared that she would be spending the weekend, much to your chagrin. You cleared off your sheets and put clean bedding down for her, figuring worse came to worst, you'd crash in Sun and Moon's room or on the couch. You watched shitty medical dramas with her before bed, making small talk about that instead of....

So when she finally headed in, you breathed out a sigh of relief, wondering where your partners had gone off to. You checked outside, and the garage, still not seeing where they'd gone off to, stopping in their dark room. Nowhere.

You really hoped you hadn't offended them by not telling your mother that you were in love with and fucking a seven and a half foot tall robot that you'd basically stolen from Fazbear. You sighed, too mentally exhausted to really dwell on it too much. You were thankful you'd put a bed in here for them, even if it was just a bit small for them. You closed the door, shucking off your clothes and laying down, staring up at the ceiling.

The faint notes of a music box drifted through the air, a massive hand tugging your ankle hard enough to drag you on the bed. "Moon," You hissed, "What the f-"

His had planted itself firmly over your mouth. "Naughty, naughty, little Star. Don't want to wake up your guest now, do you?" Moon's gravelly voice was soft, like the wind through the forest canopy.

You shook your head, eyes wide as he crouched over you. The only thing you could make out were his piercing red eyes in the darkness, watching you pointedly. You wanted to ask him what he thought hiding under the bed would accomplish, but as soon as you made a noise, he tsked.

"I have a better use for your mouth." He whispered with a sinister little chuckle.

You shivered, swiping your tongue over his fingers.

"So sweet when you're not lying." He caressed your cheeks, pressing his metal mouth to your forehead in the facsimile of a kiss before scooting up and adjusting himself; And immediately your eyes caught on the appendage before you.

He was wearing his strap already.

Moon lowered his hips, dragging the tip along your lips, fingers stroking your hair before grabbing a fistful. "Open wiiide."

You licked the tip, the taste of silicone on your tongue as he pushed into your mouth. A small moan escaped your throat, and before you knew it, his hand was around your throat; his fingers squeezing lightly in warning, but not enough to cut off airflow. He braced his other hand against the wall, shallowly thrusting in and out of your mouth, taking care to make sure you didn't gag... too much.

His pace was slow, deliberate, watching your face closely. You couldn't help but wonder if they'd both been planning this  God, you could already feel how wet you were whenever you shifted, skin clinging lewdly to the fabric of your underwear. You could feel yourself clench when he got just a bit too deep, gagging and clinging to his hips.

He pulled back and gave you a second to catch your breath, thumb coming up to caress your lower lip before shifting and crouching down to nuzzle your cheek, his other hand teasing your slit over the fabric. "Mean little Starlight, you had poor Sunny convinced you were ashamed of us."

You swallowed, "Wha- no! I'm n-"

The pressure increased around your neck, "You must be punished."

You shut up, blinking up at him.

He just continued to leasurely tease you over your underwear, adding just enough pressure to make you hyper aware of him, but never enough to do anything but drive you mad. You ground against his fingers, and he just let out a laugh, pulling them away. "Moon... Moonpie, pl-"

Moon's hand tightened around your throat, cutting off your air supply for just a moment, a warning, as he whispered into your ear, "Hush now, Starlight. Don't want to wake your guest. Don't want people to know about your little robot loving perversion, do you?"

His tone was lilting, teasing, despite the daggers in his words.

"It's not like tha-" You started as soon as he eased up, but he cut off your air again.

"No need to explain to little ol' Moon. I understand you perfectly, but Sun, poor little Sun.... Thinks you hate us. Thinks you don't want us anymore. Thinks we're just your dirty little secret."

You shook your head, mouthing out "No".

He eased up on your neck, and you gasped. His hand pulled away from your throat to caress your cheek, and you vaguely wondered if you would wake up bruised. "I love you. I love you both so much it hurts." You said as you caught your breath.

Moon placed a single finger to your lips. "You mentioned not being tied down?" He bent down close, reaching the floor and pulling up a rope. "Starlight, consider this us tying that knot."

Your eyes went wide, breath hitching.

He worked quickly, binding your wrists together and tying them to the headboard. As soon as he was satisfied, he placed a kiss on your forehead. "Just like a present all for me."

And like the little gremlin he was, he went back to teasing you over your underwear, the other running along your sides, squeezing your soft flesh. You tried to grind down, get some sort of friction, but he just tsked and held down your hips. "So impatient. So naughty." He hissed.

You whined, and he just covered your mouth with his other hand.

After what felt like an agonizing eternity, he finally pulled your underwear to the side, slipping his finger between your folds, gliding gently, avoiding exactly where you needed his touch most. He teased your entrance, pressing down but never in, swirling around it with enough pressure for you to see stars.

God, you needed him.

Wanted him.

Finally he eased in, only the tip, pulling out and dipping in, leaving you a squirming mess clenching on almost nothing. Your breath came in pants, as you bucked your hips uselessly, and he must have taken pity on you because he just let out a low, gravelly chuckle, sinking down to the knuckle. His hand muffled your keen, and he whispered out, "Quiet now, Starlight. People are sleeping."

You nodded, biting your lip and rocking onto his long, long finger. It didn't take long for him to slip in another. Twisting and curling them against your g-spot, and it took everything you had to swallow down your moans. Moon set leisurely pace again, working you up before easing you down again, over and over, leaving you a sopping, panting, unfulfilled, incoherent mess. Until he pulled out completely leaving you empty and ready to sob.

His fingers pressed against your lips and you obediently opened your mouth, lapping at them, tasting yourself as you cleaned them off. "Such a good little Starling."

He spread you, the head of his strap probing your entrance for a moment before setting a shallow, slow pace again. Just the tip, in and out; in and out until you were babbling again and he wrapped his hand around your throat. "Naughty, naughty, Brat. Keep quiet or everyone will know just how depraved you are."

It was so hard to give a shit when you just needed him to FUCK YOU.

Like a mind reader, he buried himself deeper within you, his other hand covering your mouth as he bent low. "Don't want wake everyone up, do you?"

You bit your cheek so hard it hurt.

"Don't want anyone finding out this way, do you?"

You moaned, and he squeezed down on your throat; You throbbed around him as he picked up the pace, pounding into you now.

"But, oh, Starlight, You need me, don't you?"

You nodded frantically, trying to buck your hips to the rhythm he'd set.

"You love me, don't you?"

You couldn't help but strain against the binds to try to pull him closer somehow.

His pace was brutal. "So tell me, Starlight, never did answer your mother's question; Are you going to make us a daddy?" Moon practically crooned in your ear, low and soft.

You clenched around him, breath hitching.

"Want me to fill you up? Put a little baby in you?"

Your eyes squeezed shut you were so close. So fucking close.

"Want to give us a big, happy family? Want to show the world just who you belong to?"

With a particularly deep thrust you felt yourself unravel, legs pulling him deeper as he fucked you through it. He removed his hand from your mouth, and you felt liquid shoot into your heat.

"Fu-"

He squeezed your neck again, cutting off your airflow one last time, and you were glad for it; You probably would have screamed out his name for the entire neighborhood to hear. It took a few minutes, but when you finally came back to yourself, you could feel cum leaking out of you and Moon untying your hands. He carefully massaged them, a soft music box melody drifting through the air.

You threaded your fingers through his, pulling him in for a kiss.

"I'm not ashamed of you guys." Your voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. "I need you to know that."

Moon stiffened for a moment, "I know."

"I'm serious. I love you, and if you need me to tell my family about you, I will." Your eyes met his crimson ones and he held your gaze.

"You can tell them when we have babies." He booped your nose.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. "We're not having this conversation right now."

He cackled, finally slipping out of you and undoing the strap. You took a moment to clean up, wiping away what had to be some sort of specialized lubricant. "Is that a new one?"

"Yes. Like it?"

You nodded, "Yeah... you did real good with that one."

A yawn escaped your lips, and he snickered, pulling you close. "Sleeptime now."

"Don't have to tell me twice."

Between the earth shattering orgasm you'd had, and the soft plinks of the music box notes it didn't take you long to doze off. And you'd have a conversation with them tomorrow. A real one. About feelings and shit, and the future, and... you yawned again, finally succumbing to the pleasant nothingness of sleep.

[selfignitingimagines]

Derek- Maybe You Should

    A/N: I’m finally filling this wonderful request. I figured I’d split it into two parts, so you’ll have to let me know what you guys think.

    Request: can you do an imagine where the reader is a well known vocalist in beacon hills and one night the pack goes to an underground party(you know the umm like illegal shows something like that whatever im sorry😂)and they see her again when their like a following a lead and they see her there and she's like getting information(she's a hunter) with like you know slight seduction but nothing excessive but the guy sees the pack and he runs and reader gets really badass like woah and can the pairing be with derek?

     The moon was rising in the sky as Stiles’ jeep pulled into the parking garage. His brakes groaned as they came to a halt. 

    “Scott and Derek are already here,” Lydia told him from the passenger seat. She was glancing down at her phone, reading a text from one of the boys. 

    “Great. Let’s hope our guy is here too.”

    Stiles hopped out of the jeep and walked around to open the door for Lydia, who stepped down and pulled her purse onto her shoulder. 

    It had been a long time since anything supernatural had threatened Beacon Hills, but Lydia was beginning to find dead bodies again. 

    Each of the victims had been brutally murdered, and the evidence pointed to a familiar face. At every crime scene, the werewolves had discovered the unmistakable scent of Kate Argent.

    It wasn’t surprising, considering Kate’s new supernatural abilities and her insatiable search for power. Scott had always known she would be back at some point. He wasn’t sure why she was in Beacon Hills now, but he knew they had to stop her.

    After meeting up with Stiles and Lydia, he and Derek would meet the informant that had Kate’s location. It was an odd place for a meeting, but this venue was small enough that they could corner the man, and large enough that they could remain inconspicuous. 

    This was why, when he suggested the underground show location, Scott hadn’t said no.

    You were there that night as well, doing some recon of your own, though Scott and the others didn’t know it yet. As a prominent vocalist in Beacon Hills, you were a permanent fixture at these sorts of things. They were perfect for gathering information discreetly, and on top of that, they were fun. 

    You loved to sing. You always had, and it was the perfect cover for your real job. Being a werewolf hunter wasn’t the type of thing you could put on a business card.

     If you were being honest, you were more of a mercenary than a hunter. You tried to stick to a tight moral code, one based less on traditional hunting values and more on not being an asshole. That was why you were searching for a connection to Kate tonight. 

    She might have been the one to kill Gerard, but she was still the reason your whole family was dead. She was motivated by personal gain and vendetta, just like she always had been.

    You hated Kate more than you would normally hate a target. They were all scum, but when you looked at her, all you could think about was what she had tried to turn you into. 

    You thought about that as you sat in the makeshift dressing room, staring at your reflection in the glowing lights that bordered the mirror. Dark lipstick and sharp eyeliner were part of your signature look when you performed, but even with the familiar makeup, you didn’t recognize yourself. You hadn’t in a long time. 

    As you gazed in the mirror, you noticed the curtain that was covering the door rustling behind you. Your whole body went rigid. Maybe Kate had heard you were looking for her and decided to beat you to the punch.

    Your fingers inched toward your right boot, ready to grab the knife hidden inside it.

    “Y/n, you’re on in two minutes!”

    A stagehand popped through the curtain. The tension in your shoulders eased. 

    “Thanks,” you said curtly.

    She was gone as quickly as she had appeared, her dark ponytail bobbing behind her.

    You took one last look at yourself in the mirror and smoothed down your curls. 

     Maybe you weren’t sure who you were anymore, but you weren’t concerned about it. As long as you were eventually the woman who killed Kate Argent, nothing else mattered.

------

    Stiles and Lydia walked into the warehouse, peering through the crowd. Beacon Hills had made a name for its Underground Show ever since Matt Dahler murdered one of his victims during a performance there. The event had become a sort of morbid cult favorite, drawing in all sorts of performers from across the state. 

     The warehouse was crowded, and as Stiles and Lydia scanned the crowd for Scott and Derek, they spotted them down by the bar. After what felt like ages, they were able to weave their way through the sea of sweating bodies to get to them. 

    “So,” Stiles quipped. “What are we drinking?”

    Derek rolled his eyes.

    “Kincaid is up in the sound booth,” Scott explained. 

He was leaning against the bar, scanning the swarming crowd. 

    “Kincaid?” Stiles repeated. “Like Japanese mob-boss, bodyguard Kincaid? The guy who kicked all our asses?”

    Scott nodded. “I guess he’s doing anything for money these days.”

    The music faded in the background, and people shuffled around the stage. Some headed toward the bar for their next drink as the DJ got up to announce the next act. 

    “Next up, we’ve got a local artist. Some of you may know her, the Siren of Beacon Hills, Y/n Y/l/n!”

    Derek froze, then glanced over his shoulder.

    “Wait a second,” Stiles said. “Is that-?”

    “It’s her.” Derek sounded tired. 

    Stiles looked over at Lydia, who was studying Derek intently. 

    “That’s not good,” Scott said with a frown. 

    As Lydia liked to say, you and Derek had a history, and a painful one at that. The two of you had been high-school sweethearts before the death of your parents, but the relationship crumbled when you were adopted by the Argents at sixteen. 

     After being raised with a moderate take on the supernatural, you were suddenly a part of one of the most violent and dogmatic hunting families in the country. Shortly after, Derek’s entire family was burned alive inside their home by Kate Argent, now your adopted older sister. 

     Needless to say, things were never the same between the two of you. You didn’t speak for almost a decade, and for a while, Derek didn’t think you ever would.

     Years later, when Scott brought a new generation of supernatural problems to town, the path of your lives still seemed hopelessly intertwined. You remained neutral at times, helping the pack mostly for Allison’s sake, but that meant rekindling some sort of relationship with Derek.

     You would disappear for months at a time, and when you did show up, it was always in the middle of whatever supernatural disaster was blowing through Beacon Hills that month. 

     Each time you came back, he was reminded of what could have been.

    After Allison died, you took a step back, blending into the background once again...until you learned that Kate was still alive. 

    Scott always believed you meant well, but your recklessness had gotten in the way more than once. At the end of the day, you had your own priorities.

     You preferred to think of yourself as dedicated to your mission. So what if you got in the way of every carefully crafted plan the pack made? You had your own way of doing things, and it was faster and more effective. 

     At this point, you would kill Kate and anyone working for her if you had to.  You weren’t going to justify that to Scott or anyone else. You didn’t need to.

     Down at the bar, Stiles narrowed his eyes.

     “Anyone else think it’s weird that she’s here at the exact same time as us?”

     Lydia rolled her eyes.

     Derek slammed his beer down onto the counter. The Redhead jumped, startled, as he lunged from his seat.

     The legs of the stool scraped against the cement floor as he moved, though it was barely audible under the heavy base and your crooning voice.

     Before he could shove his way through the crowd, Scott grabbed his arm.

      “What are you doing?” he hissed. “We’re supposed to be laying low.”

     “It won’t matter if she gets to Kincaid first! She’ll make a scene in front of everybody. Kate will know we’re onto her and be gone by morning.”

     “What are you gonna do, Derek?” Stiles cut in. “Just pull her off stage?”

     “I’ll drag her down by her hair if I have to.”

     “Someone’s bitter.”

     “That’s just going to cause a bigger scene,” Scott protested.

     “Oh for god’s sake,” Lydia breathed, throwing up her hands. “All three of you are ridiculous. Why don’t I just go talk to her?”

     “Because she’ll sweet talk you into letting her go,” Derek snapped. “I know you have a soft spot for her.”

     Stiles looked between the two of them with an uneasy glance. “I’m gonna have to agree with Derek on that one.”

     Lydia huffed. “She’s Allison’s godmother.”

     “Was,” Derek corrected. “She’s only looking out for herself now. Once she gets that location, she won’t tell us where it is. She’ll go there alone and get herself killed, then Kate will be in the wind again..and where does that leave us?”

     Lydia glared at him with sharp green eyes, but she couldn’t find it in herself to bite back a reply. As much as she wanted to believe you would help, she knew Derek was right. 

     “If we keep fighting we’ll never find Kate,” Scott pointed out.

     “You got a better idea?” Derek asked him.

     “Yeah, actually, I do.”

----

     “Great set, Y/n!”

     “You too!”

     You thanked the band and crew as you walked off stage, still feeling that natural high from performing. The cheers of the crowd echoed back into the dressing room, and you allowed yourself a moment of vanity as you enjoyed the sound. 

     Sweat was pooling at the back of your neck. You pulled a scrunchie from your bag and tied your hair into a bun, tucking it back in preparation for what was coming. 

     You reached into your boot, feeling for your knife just to make sure it was still there. You were just about to slip out of the dressing room when you heard an unfamiliar male voice calling your name. The person sounded like they had a thick, exaggerated southern accent.

     “Y/n? Hey, uh, are you in there?”

     You walked forward, but paused outside the curtain.

     “Who is it?”

     “Oh, uh, you don’t know me. I just thought your set was awesome, and uh, I just really wanted to see if I could get your autograph. I came all the way from the great state of Texas-”

     Suspicious, you yanked back the curtain. When you saw the figure standing outside the dressing room, you scoffed.

     “Stiles, what the fuck are you doing?”

     “Oh, hey!” he cried. “Heh, sorry I thought that you would think that was funny. It was just a little prank, you know? Uh...I just wanted to come say hey. We haven’t seen each other in forever and I saw you on stage…”

     “Stiles, you don’t like me,” you reminded him, crossing your arms over your chest.

     He feigned surprise. “Wh-what?! Me? Come on, I mean, I admire your unorthodox methods, actually-”

     Before he could speak another word, you had pulled the knife from your boot and shoved him up against the nearest wall. He gulped as you placed the blade at his throat. 

     “I know you’re trying to stop me.” 

     “Hey, hey, hey! I-I’m just trying to help. I swear!” 

     “You can tell Scott I don’t need anyone’s help.”

     “Y-yeah. I can...I can, uh, pass that on.”

     You glared at him, but pulled the knife away from his throat nonetheless. You stormed off, leaving him still plastered against the wall, too scared to move. 

     You headed for the sound booth where your informant was working tonight, shaking your head in disbelief.  

     You couldn’t believe that Scott and the others had the nerve to get in your way. You knew they were trying to stop you from killing Kate. Scott didn’t believe in killing anyone, no matter what they had done. If he had it his way, Kate would never get what she deserved.

     You crept down through the building, headed toward the sound booth. You passed a few people on your way, but they were all working backstage and seemed to be too busy with their own jobs to give you much thought. A few recognized you and gave a quick wave, but that was about it.

     When you made it to the room the sound booth was in, you peered through the heavy metal door, which was cracked and propped open with a brick. You could see your informant sitting in a folding chair in front of the sound equipment. 

     He was wearing a dark, baggy hoodie with the hood pulled up. He seemed smaller than you anticipated, though it was hard to see in the dim room. The only light came from the glow of the soundboard and speakers.

     Your fingers tightened around the knife, ready to put it against the man’s throat. It would be easy enough to get Kate’s location. Most people were willing to talk with a blade pressed to their jugular vein. 

     You reached forward and yanked down the hood, intending to press the blade down. When you did, you saw a long shock of familiar, strawberry blonde hair spill down from the hood. 

     “Lydia?!”

     You stumbled back in shock. She rose from the chair and turned to face you, looking guilty the whole time. “What the hell are you doing?!”

     “Trying to stop you from doing something stupid!” 

     “You have no idea what I’m doing!”

     You turned, intending to run out the door in search of the informant, but she reached out to grasp your arm. “Y/n, wait!”

     You reluctantly turned back to face her. “What?”

     “Allison wouldn’t want you to do this.”

     You felt a pang in your chest. Lydia was telling the truth. Allison would want you to be a team player, to ask for help, but you could never bring yourself to do that. 

      In the end, it didn’t matter. She was dead anyway. 

     “You don’t understand. I have to do this. I have to find Kate.”

     Lydia frowned. The look in your eyes was desperate, almost crazed. You really did believe what you were saying. 

     “Y/n, we’re working on it.”

     You huffed. “Not quick enough!”

     “Why can’t you just let us help?” she cried. “You can trust us.”

     “Scott will never let me kill her, Lydia. Don’t you understand? As long as she’s alive, she’ll never stop.”

     “Scott’s not the only one who wants to help.”

     “Derek would never go against Scott. He comes first.”

      “Are you sure about that?”

     You paused. “Yes.”

     She raised an eyebrow. “You hesitated.”

     “Let go of me, Lydia. You can’t stop me.”

     She stared at you for a moment, her green eyes dark and troubled. “I know.”

     She released your wrist, and you stalked out of the room and down the hall. You rubbed at the marks her pink-painted nails had left in your skin. 

     You didn’t have time to analyze what she said, but a part of you had latched onto her words as you raced down the hall. Maybe at one point, Derek would have put you before anyone, but that was a long time ago. You weren’t sure why she would think that now.

     You shook away those thoughts, trying to focus on where the informant could have gone. If the whole pack was here, that meant they had their own plan. 

     You had known Scott for a long time, and Derek even longer. If they wanted to meet with someone, they’d want to do it somewhere private and away from the crowds.

     After exploring the warehouse for a few minutes, you noticed a rusty metal door on your right. The faded red paint on it told you that it led to a fire escape. You opened it and slipped outside, stepping onto a rickety metal platform. 

     You had a good vantage point from the second floor, and you could see that you were standing at the back of the building. A few cars and vans were parked below you, no doubt from people working the event or transporting equipment. 

     There were some flood lights attached to the building that cast a dim glow and illuminated the pavement lot below. Even with the light, you didn’t see anything worth noting. 

     A breeze blew past you as you leaned over the fire escape. You welcomed the sensation of the cool air on the back of your neck, but you still had work to do. You were just about to turn to go back inside when you heard the creaking of a metal door opening below. 

     You pressed yourself back against the fire escape, keeping to the shadows as voices began to drift up from below. You didn’t recognize the second voice, but you could tell the first one was Scott’s.

     “I appreciate you meeting me here.”

     “I’d appreciate my wire transfer.”

     You peered down through the holes in the metal platform. Scott and another man were standing next to the warehouse door, carefully keeping out of the light. Someone else was standing next to Scott, but you couldn’t see who it was from that angle.

      You could see that the informant was huge, definitely bigger than Scott. His hair seemed to be completely gone or buzzed very close to his head. 

     “Woah, woah, hold on. We already sent you the money, Kincaid”

     That was Stiles, but where was Derek?    

     “That was the fee for a meeting. If you want information, it’ll cost you more.”

     You rolled your eyes. Kincaid was right under the fire escape. If you jumped over the ledge and took him down, you would catch him off guard. With a little force, you were sure he would give up Kate’s location.

    You stood up, ready to leap over the edge of the fire escape. Before you could make another move, the door behind you flew open.

    A hand clamped down over your mouth and an arm snaked around your waist. Before you had time to react, you were being yanked back through the door and into the warehouse. The door slammed shut in front of you. 

    You bit down on the fingers covering your lips.

    “Ow! What the fuck?!”

    The hands dropped you, and you stumbled forward, trying to balance yourself. Derek was standing there, a sullen look on his face as he shook out his hand. You could see a tiny trickle of blood dripping from his fingers. 

    You shoved past him and ran toward the fire escape door, but when you reached out, the handle was gone. In its place was a broken metal stub. 

    When you glanced back at Derek, he smirked and pulled the crumpled metal handle from behind his back. He had pulled the door handle right off. 

     “Looking for something?”

    “What the hell is the matter with you?” you demanded.

    “What’s the matter with you? Are you trying to get arrested?”

    “The Sheriff wouldn’t arrest me.”

    “You’re drawing too much attention,” he insisted. “What was your plan, huh? Just tackle Kincaid?”

    You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Maybe.”

    “Why do you always have to do things the hard way?”

    “Because my way is faster…and, no offense, but it doesn’t look like you and your little band of heroes got any information either.”

     Derek was fuming. His green eyes were cloudy and dark. He was clenching his jaw and his hands were curled into fists. It would have been hot if it weren’t so annoying.

    You started to turn away, but Derek grabbed your wrist. You gritted your teeth. 

    “Get the fuck off me.”

    “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

    “I don’t care.”

    You tried to pull your wrist from his grip, but you couldn’t compete with his strength. He stepped forward, caging you in against the wall. 

     The cement was cold against your back as he pinned your wrists above your head. He stared at you, his expression unreadable.  

     “That’s your fucking problem. You don’t care, but they do. Do you have any idea how upset they would be if something happened to you?”

    He nodded at the wall behind him. Scott and the rest of his pack were on the other side of it with Kincaid, stealing the information you had fought so hard to get.

    “Just them?” you asked. “Or you too?”

    There was a cool glint in his eyes, and you could only imagine the memories that were flitting around in his head. It was no use though. You were trying to hit a nerve that had lost feeling a long time ago.

    When he didn’t answer, you flashed him a bitter smile. “Don’t worry, Derek. I know you still hate me.”

    His eyes held yours for a moment. He looked like he wanted to say something, but before he could, his phone rang. 

    With one hand, he reached down and pulled it from his jeans. “Yeah?”

    You could hear Scott’s muted voice on the other end of the phone. “Kincaid ran.”

    Derek’s mouth formed a grim line. “What?”

    “He got spooked when you pulled Y/n back inside. I think he thought she was one of Monroe’s hunters.”

    Derek closed his eyes and let out an exhausted sigh. “Alright. Thanks.”

     Without another word, he dropped your wrists and stepped back. You kept your eyes trained on the cement floor, avoiding Derek’s at all costs. You couldn’t stand to see his sullen, puppy-dog eyes and the disappointment they held.

     You turned away from him and headed back toward the dressing room, but before you could get far, he called out to you.

    “I don’t.”

    You paused, glancing back over your shoulder. “What?”

    “I don’t hate you.”

    You swallowed. “Well, maybe you should.”

    Derek frowned as you turned away. Every cell in his body was aching for him to follow you down the shadowy hallway. There was so much he wanted you to know, but it had been so long since you had let him close.

    Maybe that was his fault for pushing you away so carelessly. It had been years since then, but he had accused you of helping Kate start the fire that killed his family. 

     He knew you were forced into training as a young hunter. He knew she had used you just as much as she had used him. At the time, he didn’t care. He was so angry, and even though you had loved him, Kate planted the seeds of doubt in his mind long before the fire.

     Derek let himself be manipulated by her, and, even a decade later, he had never managed to heal your relationship. He wasn’t sure if he ever would.

[violetlilysunshine]

Home Late Part 2 - 18+

Dad Chris Evans x CEO Mom Reader

Part 1

WC: 2,809

Warnings: smut, 18+, humping, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), overstimulation, forced orgasm?, cum play

MINORS DNI

A/N: You don’t have to read part one to understand this, but if you want something fluffy, it’s there! 

If you are choosing to continue reading below, you are saying that you are 18 years of age or older and therefore are consuming this content at your own risk. Warnings are listed above, so you can consume what you are comfortable with of course. If I find out that you are a minor consuming my 18+ content, you will be blocked and reported.

MASTERLIST

Your deal had finally closed a few days ago. You stayed extra late again tonight, finishing up all of your work so that you wouldn’t have to miss another dinner for the foreseeable future.

You pulled up in front of the house, again seeing all of the downstairs lights off, but noting that the one in your bedroom was on; Chris must still be up.

You pulled in the garage and turned off the car, grabbing your purse out of the back seat and hustling inside. You dropped your things on the kitchen counter, toed off your shoes, and hurried up the stairs.

You found Chris in your bed, propped up against the headboard, your daughter, Charlie, sleeping soundly on his chest. His t-shirt stretched tightly against his biceps as he stroked over her back gently. He glanced up at you as you entered the room, giving you a boyish smile.

You smiled back, leaning against the doorframe and watching them fondly.

“Remember when I used to get to do that?” you whispered, not wanting to wake your daughter.

Chris chuckled lightly, “yeah baby, I remember,” he smiled, “but if I remember right, there were a lot less clothes involved,” he raised his eyebrows at you.

“Hmm, I think I remember that part too,” you smiled softly, giggling at him.

“I’m gonna put her down,” he said gently, shuffling out of bed carefully to not disturb her.

He stood from the bed, his shirt riding up and pants dropping down; a strip of skin exposed to you and you felt your panties dampen, admiring his naked skin. It wasn’t much, but enough to get you in the mood.

As he passed by, he stopped in front of you so you could kiss the top of her head. After doing so, he stayed put in front of you instead of heading to the nursery. You looked up to meet his eyes, a flicker of excitement dancing through them.

“Me too,” he mumbled, pursing his lips at you and leaning down a bit.

You chuckled at him, kissing his lips sweetly, he held on for just a second. You let it linger, sensing that he needed it after a long day. You needed it too if you’re being honest.

He hummed against your mouth, “mmm, welcome home,” he said, his voice low and gravely.

“Happy to be home, bubba,” you whispered back.

He pecked you once more, before he turned and headed down the hall to the nursery. You sensed that he was up to something, and you could get down with having some fun tonight. It’d been quite a while since the two of you connected, and you were starting to crave him, that strip of skin doing something to you.

You heard his low voice down the hallway, words indistinguishable, but you knew he was talking to Charlie. You quickly padded into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You washed your face, and brushed out your hair. After doing so, you heard him pad back into the bedroom and the memorable squeak of the bedsprings as he settled in. You decided to spice things up, as a sort of thank you for handling everything while you’d been working overtime recently.

You stripped down completely, dropping your clothes in the hamper. You ran a washcloth over your bits, wanting to make sure it wasn’t disgusting down there. Not that Chris would’ve cared, but you felt better after doing so.

You twisted your necklace back to center, letting it lay daintily between your breasts. You fluffed your hair and checked yourself out in the mirror. You painted on some tinted chapstick, before opening the bathroom door gently. Chris sat against the headboard again, scrolling through his phone, eyes focused. You opened the door all the way, leaning against the frame with one arm above your head, holding onto it, the other on your hip.

Chris glanced up from his phone, noticing the change of light in the room. His jaw dropped as he saw you standing there. His eyes drank in your figure slowly, scanning all the way up your body before meeting your gaze.

“Hi, baby,” he chuckled in disbelief.

“Hi,” you whispered back, taking long slow steps across the room to the foot of the bed.

“What’s this for?” he chuckled again, breathing heavily.

“A thank you, for taking care of things,” you said simply, “and I’ve missed you,” you added.

“I’ve missed you too, doll,” he groaned.

“Then let’s get reacquainted,” you whispered, crawling on the bed between his legs.

Your lips found his quickly, kiss deepening immediately. His hands flew up to your hips, holding tightly as you spread your legs across his body. You sat on his hips, immediately grinding against him. He moaned as your core made contact with his member over his pants and boxers. His eyes closed gently as you circled your hips over him. You liked watching him fall apart underneath you.

You ground down harder on him, pressing your palms against his chest for stability.

“God, darlin’, can feel you soakin’ me through my clothes,” he groaned.

You looked down at your cores, a wet spot visible on his pants, “sorry, love,” you whispered, moving to get off of him.

He was quick to grab your hips, stilling your motion, “no, don’t go,” he spoke, “it’s hot as fuck.”

You giggled at him, resuming your circles. The coil in our stomach started to tighten; you ground down harder, leaning forward to tip your clit against him. You moaned loudly above him and he watched your face: your mouth dropped into an ‘O’ and your eyes squeezed shut.

“Gonna cum already, beautiful?” he asked, voice low.

You hummed a “yes,” back, circling your hips faster and pressing against him harder. He brought one hand to your clit, rubbing harsh circles against it. His other hand gripped onto your hip tightly, pulling you around on top of him.

You moaned as you climaxed on top of him; you didn’t mean for it to happen, but it felt so good when you started that you just couldn’t stop. Tonight was supposed to be about him.

“Sorry, bubba,” you whispered as you came down, opening your eyes slowly.

“Sorry? For what?” he asked.

“Tonight’s supposed to be about you, and here I am cumming all over you and you’re not even naked yet,” you groaned, falling forward to bury your face in his neck.

“Honey, that was good for me too,” he reassured you sweetly.

“Really?” you questioned, “how could that have been good for you?” you laughed, sitting up to look at his face.

“Simple,” he said as if it were as plain as day, “I like watching you cum.”

You giggled at him, tapping his chest lightly. He pulled you down to kiss you again, tongue fluttering over yours gently. You tangled your fingers in his hair, resting your weight on your forearms against his pecs. His hands moved down to squeeze the flesh of your ass, kneading roughly, completely contrasting his mouth.

You knew he was an ass man and after he grabbed yours, you knew exactly how you wanted to treat him tonight. You pushed yourself away from him, catching his eyes once again.

“How attached are you to this shirt?” you asked quickly.

He knew what you were getting at immediately, “not attached at all, baby girl.”

You brought both of your hands to the collar, pulling against it as hard as you could. It wasn’t a very thick material, and you honestly thought you could do it. You pulled for quite a bit, before looking up at Chris, your eyes falling.

“I can’t do it,” you whispered, sad that you couldn’t rip his shirt like you wanted to. You knew how much he likes aggressive actions like that.

“Let me start it,” he soothed, replacing your hand with his own.

He tore through the collar quickly, stopping as soon as he heard the treads split. You quickly grabbed it again, ripping it the rest of the way down the center. His chest came into view, making your mouth water. You ran your hands over it as he sat up, shedding his ruined shirt off to the side.

He rested back against the headboard and you shimmed down, pulling his pants and boxers down his legs. He helped you get them off, kicking them over the end of the bed. You hustled back up, grinding against his now exposed member. He was hot and heavy against your core, his tip red and leaking. You both shut your eyes, heads falling back.

You both let out breathy moans, feeling each other bare for the first time since you’d had Charlie. You started to grind faster, chasing another high, but you stopped yourself. You slowed your hips down before coming to a complete stop.

His eyes opened, finding yours with a puzzled look on his face. You giggled lightly, turning around on top of him, settling on your knees on either side of his thighs again.

He knew what you were doing immediately and moaned loudly at the thought, “oh god, baby, really?” he questioned, voice low and breathy.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, lifting your hips up and threading a hand back between your legs, “gonna give you a show.”

You grabbed ahold of his member gently, knowing just how sensitive he would be. He hissed when you made contact, but then you pumped a few times before lining him up to your center. He moaned as he felt his tip bump your clit. You placed one hand on his thigh, the other holding his member in place. He held your hips as you slowly sank down on top of him. You moaned at the stretch, feeling the burn radiate out through your hips.

You sank down on him fully, sitting flush against his hips, taking a second to catch your breath. You arched your back, feeling his member rub your spot just right. You leaned forward, gripping both of his legs just above the knees. You slowly started rocking your hips back and forth, grinding against him once again.

Once you got comfortable, you began to bounce shallowly on his cock. He moaned as he slipped in and out of you, watching his cock disappear inside of you and your butt jiggle each time you landed back on top of him. He quickly planted his feet on the mattress beginning to thrust up into you harshly.

He hammered into you over and over, skin slapping against skin, nails digging into each other. The fire in your stomach built even faster this time and he snaked a hand around to play with your clit. He rolled it around in his fingers a few times, letting you know he was there, before pressing against it harshly.

That was all it took for you to reach your peak. Your legs gave out underneath you as you came. You moaned out loudly, so loud that you were sure you’d wake the baby, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

Chris felt his release coming up fast, but willed it away, determined to get three out of you tonight. He never stopped thrusting, forcing you to ride out your high. Once you’d come back down and your walls relaxed around him, he was quick to change positions.

He pulled you up into all fours, slipping his legs underneath him; magically, his cock never came out of you, and he moved so quickly that he was able to maintain his thrusts.

He gripped your hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail with one hand, while the other pulled your hips forward and back into him. He slammed into you over and over, the slapping of your skin echoing in the room. If it wasn’t for Chris’ grip on your hair, you would’ve face planted into the mattress.

“Chris, bubba, needa break, gotta - ohhhhhh - gotta catch my breath,” you whimpered underneath him, overstimulated.

He kept thrusting into you, going even deeper now, “no baby, you’re gonna give me one more, I know you can do it.”

You moaned out louder than ever. He released his grip on your hair, allowing you to fall forward. You wrapped your fingers over the end of the bed, holding on as he slammed into you.

In this new position, his cock went even deeper inside you, his tip bumping your cervix and stroking over your favorite spot. You moaned into the mattress, your third climax coming up fast. His fingers came to stroke your clit again, but as soon as they touched you, you were done for.

This climax was much more intense than the last. You squeezed your eyes together, body jolting as you peaked. Your walls squeezed around Chris impossibly tight, triggering his own release. He stilled his hips deep inside of you, cumming hard.

You felt his release spurting inside of you, warming your core even more. You don’t know how long you stayed like that, both of you catching your breath. When you’d both relaxed, he leaned forward slowly, dropping his face to your back and peppering kisses down your spine and over your ass.

“Love you,” he whispered over and over against your skin.

He pulled out all the way, but held your hips, keeping you up on all fours. He watched his release drip out of you for a second, before lining back up and pressing into you again. You weren’t expecting it, but relished the feeling.

He fucked his cum back inside of you gently, watching you shutter with every thrust.

“Remember what happened last time you did that?” you chuckled at him.

“Yeah,” he whispered, pulling out of you again.

You breathed deeply as he tapped both of your hips, signaling for you to turn over.

“And remember what happened after?” you asked as you settled on your back, pressing your legs together.

He pulled your legs apart again, seeing his cum fall out of you again and gently pushing it back in with his fingers, “yeah,” he moaned, “we got that beautiful little girl down the hall.”

“Well, as long as you remember,” you breathed, wrapping your hands around his bicep to pull him down next to you.

He settled on his side, using your outstretched arm as a pillow. He sighed deeply, blowing a cool stream of air against your side and chest. Your nipple pebbled at the action, making you giggle.

“Down, boy,” you warned him with a giggle.

“Sorry, baby,” he chuckled, looking up at you.

He threw a hand over your stomach, gently stroking your skin and pressed kisses to the side of your breast. You breathed deeply, regaining strength after all of that.

“Was I too rough?” he whispered worriedly against your skin, taking in your exhausted state.

“No, bubba, I’m okay,” you whispered back, “it was kinda fun. Like the old days,” you giggled.

“Yeah,” he chuckled.

Chris rolled over, sliding out of the bed and padding into the bathroom. He returned a few seconds later with a damp washcloth. He gently rubbed around your upper thighs and core, cleaning you up sweetly.

He leaned up, pecking your cheek quickly, “I love you, beautiful,” he whispered.

You turned your head to press your lips to his again before pulling back, “I love you, too.”

He winked at you, scampering off to the bathroom to discard the cloth. He dropped it in the hamper and washed his hands quickly before rejoining you.

“Turn around, I’ll tuck you in,” he said gently, pressing a hand to your shoulder.

“Mmm, in a minute,” you whispered, beginning to doze off.

He laughed lightly, scooping his arms underneath you and picking you up. He walked around the bed, placing you down onto your side of the mattress. He curled the blanket over your shoulders, pressing another kiss to your temple.

You sighed gently, “join me.”

Chris couldn’t say no to that; he hustled around the bed again, crawling in behind you. He shuffled over to spoon you gently, wrapping an arm around your waist and stroking you tenderly.

“I love you,” he spoke again.

“I love you, bubba,” you whispered back.

You started to doze off in his arms, but were snapped out of it when the baby monitor cut in with a cry. You chuckled lightly, scooting to shuffle out of bed.

“I can get it, love,” Chris spoke, moving to do the same.

“Nah, I’ve got it,” you said gently, “just think, there might be two after tonight,” you laughed.

He chuckled at you, watching you pull out one of his sweatshirts, putting it on before shuffling out of the room.

He knew you meant your last sentence as a warning, but he couldn’t help but feel overjoyed. Two would be nice…

[readerstories]

I’m sorry- Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader

Idk if angry was the emotion you wanted, but for some reason that is what I was feeling like writing this time. Also, I cannot keep stuff with Hotch short apparently. (AO3)

Warnings/tags: established relationship, angst, fighting, hurt/comfort, Hotch being an ass, happy ending

Wordcount: 2696

Request: I was wondering if you could do a hotch x BAU!reader where Hotch says something in the heat of an argument and the reader gets super emotional and Hotch just tries to apologize and make it up to reader. Thank you💕💕

Sometimes, injuries happen at work.

You had done a quick assessment in the field, making a hard decision when you needed to. Going in without much backup had been a risk you chose to take.

Being hit in the head with an old briefcase that has metal edges had not been a possibility you had foreseen, but it happened anyways.

You had rounded a corner in the unsub’s home, gun raised and yelling his name, and he had gotten a good knock on your forehead. You had been dazed for a few seconds, but managed to tackle him and cuff him anyway, reading him his rights as you did so.

The hard edge of the briefcase had hit your forehead, making a small gash, which was not deep, but it was bleeding quite a bit like head wounds tend to do. It’s running down your face as you get the unsub up on his feet, so you have to close your left eye and wipe at it as you lead the cuffed man outside.

Once outside you hand him over to an officer, who gives your head a glance, but doesn’t ask as you turn away from him as he starts to lead the unsub towards a car.

Rossi spots where he’s talking to Hotch and the police chief and points towards the ambulance standing close. You nod, and wipe at your face with the edge of your jacket sleeve, catching Hotch turning around to look at you too, but you don’t catch the worried look in his eyes.

Walking over to the ambulance, you’re guided to sit on the back as one of the paramedics cleans you up.

Even though it looked bad with the blood, the clean up goes quick, and they say you won’t even need stitches.

And luckily no concussion either.

A few butterfly strips get applied to your forehead and you are allowed to go with a promise that you will take it easy for at least a day or two.

You’re asked if you have anyone to stay with just in case and you nod as an answer, the adrenaline of it all wearing off as you stand up and yawn. The paramedic smiles and wishes you good night, you do the same to them.

Joining Aaron at his car, he doesn’t say anything, his mouth in a thin line as he looks at the strips now adorning your forehead. Both of you had agreed from the start to keep PDA to a minimum at work, but you wish he would at least say or do something.

Ask you if you’re fine.

Hold your hand maybe.

Comment on how you should change out of your bloodied jacket.

Something.

Something other than the stony silence that follows you into the car.

It takes a few minutes of Aaron driving towards Quantico before anything is said.

“You were reckless.”

“I made a decision on the spot and it backfired a little, yes, but I was hardly reckless.”

“If he had a gun-”

“I would have disarmed him or shot him first.”

“You couldn’t stop a briefcase, you think you could do a gun?” Getting irritated, you glare at Aaron.

“Yes.” You grit out.

“You sure?”

“Aaron, what the fuck is this?” You see him clench at the wheel, his knuckles turning whiter as he concentrates on driving for a few seconds before answering you.

“You need a debrief.”

“Yes, from Rossi, at the office, not like this.” He scoffs, glancing at you briefly before locking his gaze back on the road. You see his jaw clench, but he doesn’t answer you, so you don’t say anything either.

Neither of you speak again until you’re back at headquarters. Aaron beelines for his office, and you’re hot on his heels, not paying any attention to the rest of the team already gathered at the bullpen.

“Aaron-” You try to speak as you close the door behind you, but he interrupts you.

“You should take a week off.” You stare at him as he rummages through some papers on his desk, not even looking at you as he speaks. “One paid week off should do you good. After all this.” He gestures at you and finally looks away from the papers again.

“Hotch, if this was anyone else, you would let them come back after a day to sleep in.” Aaron sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t have to explain my reasoning to you.” His voice is angry, but simmering with tiredness just beneath the surface.

The silence in the room as you don’t even give an answer to the statement is deafening. There’s a look in your eyes that he never wished to see directed at him.

Ice cold anger. Mixed with disappointment, and something else he can’t quite place. Sadness perhaps?

You unclip your gun from your holster, placing it on his desk with your badge.

“See you in a week, Hotchner.” The use of his full last name hurts, you might as well have used bullets.

You don’t let him give you any response to your statement, opening the door and striding out of his office, not slamming the door behind you as much as you want to. Your steps down to you desk are fast, as fast as they can be without fully running.

You gather your things quickly, ignoring the rest of your team.

Morgan tries to stop you with a hand on your shoulder, but you evade him with a glare, making him back off.

All the things you need on your person, you’re out of the glass door seconds later. You slam on the elevator button, debating on just taking the stairs to run off some steam while also getting out of here.

Rossi joins you as you wait, and you hear him open his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

“If you try to say something to get me to stay, I swear to god, I will put you on the ground.” Your words and glare makes Rossi’s eyebrows rise, but he keeps his mouth shut and takes a few steps away from you.

Finally the elevator doors open and you get in, pushing the button for the parking garage and the button to close the door faster in quick succession. With one last glare at the bullpen the elevator door closes in front of your face.

While you try your damnedest to set a new speed record for leaving the building, Rossi goes back to the bullpen, where the rest of the team sends him questioning glances.

“What even happened?” Morgan wonders out loud. “I’ve never seen them so angry before.”

“I don’t know.” Rossi is looking at Hotch, who is moving around in his office, partly shielded by the blinds. Everyone is looking between each other and Hotch’s office, the first one daring to go up there ends up being Rossi.

He knocks softly on the door with a knuckle, making Hotch look up from where he is standing next to his desk and reading some paperwork in his hand.

“You want to talk?” Hotch scoffs, putting the papers down on the desk.

“I’m fine.” Rossi closes the door behind him.

“But they clearly weren’t, so come on, spill. What did you do?” Hotch clenches his jaw, sparing a glance down at the bullpen, where the rest of the team tries to pretend they’re busy.

“I told them to take a paid week off, they protested, I insisted.” Hotch sighs as Rossi scoffs.

“For such a smart man you sure are dumb sometimes.” Hotch’s head snaps back by the comment, looking like he wants to answer and defend himself, but Rossi holds up a hand to stop him.

“You messed up. You must have known telling them to take a week off just for this was a bad call.”

“I didn’t.” Hotch's eyes are like steel, but there’s hurt hiding behind, if it’s at Rossi’s words or your actions he doesn’t know.

“But it was. Fuck Aaron, what are you even still doing here?” Hotch squints his eyes at Rossi, who throws his hands up into the air.

“You should be running after them and begging them to forgive you for doing the wrong thing. Preferably with their favorite flowers and candy in hand, or some sort of gesture, because this-” He gestures at Hotch and your gun and badge on his desk, “Is not good for anyone.” Hotch watches him for a few seconds.

“Rossi-”

“Just go Aaron.” Seemingly making up his mind, Hotch gathers his stuff, only stopping right next to Rossi and giving him a glance.

“I-” Rossi pats Hotch’s shoulder.

“Someone had to knock some sense into you. Go.” Hotch nods, out the door in seconds. The team watches him go, neither of them saying anything before Hotch is gone and Rossi joins them in the bullpen.

“They going to be okay?” Morgan asks.

“Let’s hope so.” Rossi answers, staring at the glass doors.

“I hate when people fight.” Garcia says quietly as Morgan pulls her into a side-hug.

----

You don’t know if you should even be driving right now, but can’t find it in yourself to care or think too much about it.

You just need to get somewhere where you can be alone and clear your head. Somewhere there’s less people and more open space.

And lucky for you, you know just the spot.

Almost on auto-pilot, you drive your truck away from work, heading out on the main road, not driving for long until you turn onto a small side road. It can barely even be called that, small and uneven as it is, but it’s no problem for you truck where you drive it with sure hands.

You end up in a clearing near the water, a small beach barely touched or seen by anyone else, except maybe the occasional hiker. You debate going down to the water, but instead you park your truck with its back towards it, flipping the tailgate down so you can sit on it.

Jumping up to sit on the tailgate, you pull out the newly bought pack of smokes and lighter from your pocket. You had quit years ago, but tonight seems like a good idea for bad habits, you think to yourself as you light one.

Taking a drag, you can already tell you will regret it later with the aftertaste you know it leaves, but you continue smoking nonetheless. 

Turning some old candy wrapper in your pocket into an improvised ashtray and putting it on the right side of you, one cigarette turns into two, soon morphing into a third.

It’s just seconds after lighting your forth cigarette that you hear another car approach. Which is odd, because you were certain few people know about this place, but you’re not too worried, your private gun resting in the back of your pants a comforting weight.

The car rounds the last bend of the small road, coming to a stop not too far from you, lights illuminating your truck and the beach beyond. Turning to look, you’re almost blinded by the lights, but they are quickly shut off as the car is turned off, and you realize you know the car.

Aaron’s car.

You snort.

The trip out here from the main road couldn’t have been comfortable for his car, or for Aaron.

Good.

You turn back around just as the driver door starts to open, and you ignore the sound of Aaron’s steps in the dirt in favor of taking another drag of your cigarette and staring into the water.

Aaron comes around your truck, leaning against your truck’s tailgate on your left, keeping his distance. He places a plastic grocery bag in the space between you. It makes a dull thud and despite you trying to ignore it, you find yourself curious.

“Peace offering.” Aaron explains as you eye the bag. You reach over and push at the top of the bag so you can peek inside. A couple of your favorite snacks, drinks, and a DVD with the logo of a movie you had talked about wanting to see. You push the bag behind you into the truck bed, taking another drag of your cigarette.

“How did you find me?” You don’t look at Aaron just yet, but you can tell he is looking at you.

“You told me about this place a few months ago and how you go here to relax sometimes and I- I just thought with how I acted-” Aaron sighs. He holds out his hand just in your field of vision, gesture clear. You give him your cigarette, watching him for the first time since he arrived as he takes a drag, letting the smoke lazily spill out from his lips with practiced ease.

“Didn’t take you for a smoker.”

“I had a phase in college.” He offers, taking another drag before giving the cigarette back to you. You take a drag yourself, letting the silence linger for a moment before you speak.

“You know you were being stupid.”

“Yes.” You’re just slightly surprised with how there is no hesitation in the one-word answer, but you’re a little content as well.

“If it had been anyone else in the team you wouldn’t have reacted that way.” Aaron sighs, putting his arms back on the tailgate, using them as leverage to hoist himself up so he’s sitting on the tailgate too, still keeping his distance.

“No one else in the team are you.” You wait for him to say more, taking a last drag of your cigarette, putting it out with the three others in the candy wrapper.

“I’m sorry.” Aaron admits, but you still don’t say anything. “I was acting and thinking like your significant other, and not your boss. I let my worry get the best of me, and I tried to find a way to shield you from any further harm in what little way I could by telling you to take a week off.” You nod, at least seeing his reasoning a bit clearer now.

“I’m not taking it.”

“You are but-” He holds up a hand before you can protest and glare at him too hard “-but so am I.” You blink, staring at him for a few seconds.

“You are?” He nods, and you lean forward to place the back of your hand on his forehead. He almost jolts at your touch, but doesn’t move away.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking if you have a fever.” Hotch scoffs, but a small smile peaks through as you let your hand fall down. He felt fine, and other than looking a bit tired and very sorry, he looks fine too.

Hotch takes your hand in his, bringing it up to kiss your knuckles and you can’t help the fond smile on your face.

“I’m sorry.” He offers up again, letting go of your hand in favor of moving closer so he can put an arm around your waist and lean his head on your shoulder as you look at the water again. You hum, turning your head ever so slightly so you can kiss the top of your head. You can’t see the little shy smile on Aaron’s face, but you can almost hear it in his almost hopeful voice as he speaks.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” You hum, moving your hand to rest on his knee.

“Mostly. But you are the only one doing chores this week.”

“That’s alright with me, as long as I get to spend time with you.” His hand on your jaw turns your head towards him, letting him give a brief kiss to your lips, and then a feather light one just below the butterfly strips on your forehead.

“You’re a fool Aaron.”

“I’m only a fool for you.”

“Cheesy.” You roll your eyes at him with a smile as you get down from the tailgate, Aaron joining you, standing close so he can give you another kiss.

“Always.” He says with a grin, making his eyes light up and you can’t help but kiss him.

[maddiwrites]

The Hybrid (Prologue)

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: The Pogues rekindle their friendship with their old childhood best friend and JJ’s first crush, Y/N. Old feelings resurface for JJ and Y/N, possibly leading to a summer neither one of them could ever forget. Due to past trauma, Y/N is reluctant to let anyone into her heart, but JJ never backs down from a challenge, even if he knows it will come back to haunt him in the end.

Note: So happy to be back with another series!!! I honestly really missed posting. Unlike Secrets of the Shore, updates will be slower because I don’t have them all written out yet. A couple things I wanted to let you know before you read. I based Y/N’s family off of Gilmore Girls. I thought they were the perfect fit for this story and the show in general and I just love their dynamic. (Including Luke who I renamed Steve for obvious reasons). Chapter 1 will explain more obviously but I wanted to give you guys a little snippet of the characters and relationships. So let me know what y'all think!

Word Count: 3.3k

Outer Banks. Paradise on Earth. It's the sort of place where you either have two jobs or two houses. Two tribes, one island. As you know, the Outer Banks is essentially divided into two groups. If we want to be blunt - it’s the rich and the poor. Figure Eight is home to the rich. Aka the Kooks. With houses bigger than necessary with extra rooms that go untouched, boats the size of homes on the Cut - the other side of the island. Most people who live on Figure Eight are your naturally raised assholes. People who don’t know the value of a dollar and take advantage of people who do most of their dirty work that lets them prance around the island with perfectly manicured fingernails. These hard workers are the Pogues. They live on the south side of the island where most Kooks wouldn’t be found dead. They serve fancy meals at the country club for shitty tips, mow lawns, and work their asses off at any other job for minimum wage. The drastic difference in lifestyles tend to cause many spats and arguments between the two communities. Especially between the teenagers who still don’t know how to control their raging emotions or know when to bite back their tongue. For the Kooks, every fight is a fight for dominance where as the Pogues fight for equality - to put the Kooks in their place. Many of these fights happen at summer parties where the two groups clash to find a good time with their friends filled with alcohol, drugs, and good music.

That’s where they find themselves tonight. The infamous Pogues. John B, JJ, Kie, Pope, and now Sarah Cameron. Although born a natural Kook, she’s earned her spot next to the adventurous teens and her boyfriend. Unlike her brother Rafe who basically is the leader of his notorious group. Topper and Kelce are his best friends who follow him blindly.

The Pogues watch them from their spot surrounding the keg. Kie purses her lips in distaste as the boys cat call for the ladies around them. Somehow most of them finding it flattering. Sarah sips on her beer to hide her embarrassment, often wondering how she and her brother grew up to be so different. Pope and John B stay mostly disinterested, only worried if they try to make a pass at an unwilling girl or fire a degrading comment at their short tempered friend. JJ Maybank is known around the island for his trouble making behavior. Usually if he gets in trouble for fights, no one ever asks who the other people were in the scuffle. Because if JJ Maybank is in the fight, he’s the one who started it, right? Wrong. In fact, JJ usually is never the one to start it. He’s good at keeping his head down and only speaking when spoken to when it comes to the Kooks - the only form of advice worth taking from his father. But his short temper is something the Kooks his age loved to take advantage of because they liked getting a rise out of him. It was like an adrenaline rush.

Luckily, tonight both groups were keeping their distance, either only talking to each other or random Tourons that have found their way to the party. This is usually JJ’s favorite part of a boneyard party. Finding his one fish in a sea of many that he can reel in just for the night and never have to worry about seeing them again.

He has his eyes set on a beautiful blonde making her way to the bonfire when all of a sudden Kie’s voice pulls him out of his trance.

“What’s she doing here?”

JJ follows her line of vision, spotting you walking down the wooden steps that lead to the beach, pulling your best friend behind you by his wrist. He first notices your smile and how it brightens up your entire face. Then of course his eyes scan down your slim but athletically toned body. You’re wearing a pair of jean shorts and a cropped white T shirt that says UNC across the chest. Who knew someone could look so good without even trying?

Well JJ did. He’s known it for a while.

“Careful. I think you’re drooling,” John B whispers in his best friend’s ear.

JJ pushes him away and mutters, “Shut up. No I’m not.”

But maybe he was.

Y/N Y/L/N is a unique resident of the island. Unlike majority of the island, she doesn’t fall in either Kook or Pogue category. She’s what everyone calls the Hybrid.

People who work hard for what they have but haven’t fallen to be Pogue status. Quite literally living in the middle in a place they call the Crest.

Your story is well versed among the gossipers of the island (which tends to be just about everybody).  And mainly that’s because of who your grandparents are.  Claude and Doris Y/L/N. Two of the riches people on the island, living in a three story house on the beach. Many people fear them, others envy them. Most feel both. Even Ward Cameron walks on egg shells around them, which is quite often, considering he works for Claude. They’re the kind of people who have never heard of Barefoot wine or Walmart. They keep their noses up and turn a blind eye to the suffering communities around them. Thirty four years ago, Doris gave birth to a daughter that couldn’t be more opposite than them. Lorelai Y/L/N was a wild child. A rule breaker. She snuck out at nights, dated boys her parents would never approve of, dabbled in breaking the law here and there. It didn’t matter how many times her parents disciplined her. She always managed to make her parents’ life a living hell. 

No one was surprised when word got passed around that Lorelai had gotten pregnant at eighteen. Although it was with another Kook, she brought shame upon her family name when she refused to get an abortion, even when her mom tried dragging her by her hair. 

Lorelai risked everything by running away from her parents’ home in the middle of a windy night. With only one suitcase, the baby daddy out of the picture, and less than a grand in her pocket, she managed to make a life for herself on the South side of the island. She worked two jobs, found an affordable apartment for cheap rent, and managed to save some money before her babies were born.

Yes, babies. As in more than one. Five months after running away from home, she gave birth to twin girls and they instantly became her entire life. With the help of her best friend Steve, who she met one month after being on her own, meeting him at his automotive shop when she very much literally rolled her junky car into the garage, she raised you and your sister on the Cut. The two of you are her greatest accomplishment. Every now and then, she mentally throws up a middle finger to everybody who doubted her, proud of who the two of you have become. 

Right before you turned ten, your mom took a business risk and opened her own Cafe. The Bikini Beans cafe, very popular amongst both Kooks and Pogues. The business did so well that she was able to move the three of you out of your shitty apartment into a beautiful one story home with three bedrooms in between the Cut and Figure Eight, aka the Crest, the summer going into your freshman year.

You actually used to be best friends with John B Routledge, JJ Maybank, and Pope Heyward. It was easier being friends with them than the girls, finding more joy in sports and rough housing than makeup and gossip. 

Doing the same summer that you moved, your mom pulled you out of Kildare County High and placed you in Outer Banks Private Academy. Aka Kook Academy. Around this time, your grandparents had also become more involved in your life, and you wondered if they had somehow bribed your mom into forcing you to transfer schools. You tried asking her during one of your many fights that started with you begging her to keep you at Kildare County High, but she quickly shut you down and told you to be grateful. That was ironic coming from the woman who ran away from the people giving her an expensive high school career. 

You had no choice but to do what your grandparents wanted and attend Kook Academy. Making friends was a lot harder there than it was in Kildare County High. You managed to make one friend in your freshman year. Andre Cortez. Due to an incident a couple years back, you built thick walls and Andre was the only one able to break them down. You were grateful for your friendship, but hanging out with him was nothing like hanging out with the Pogues. 

When you transferred schools, you lost touch with the Pogues slowly. Your life became busy with school and playing dress up for your grandparents and the boys were starting to work. Eventually all contact was cut and ever since, you’ve felt a void in your heart.

“Look,” You tell Andre. “I told you I would be your wing woman and I’m not backing down from what could possibly be the most important role in my life.”

You didn’t notice the Pogues or any of the stares around you. It’s true you’re not much of a party girl. I mean, you’ll go out here and there, have a drink or two, but you felt more comfortable at places where you weren’t surrounded by drunk and horny teenagers. 

“He’s probably not even here,” Andre says. He’s trying to look nonchalant but you notice the way his eyes dance from face to face of the people around him. 

“He told you he was going to be here, right?” You ask him with one brow raised. Andre nods. “Then, we’ll find him.”

Sarah and Kie never made any effort to talk to you at school, but to be fair, neither have you. You’ve heard mixed reviews, some people call them spoiled brats, ungrateful...some even go as far as calling them ‘The Cut Sluts.’ Of course you never take any of those things to heart. You can’t judge a book but it's cover. Plus, they’re friends with your old best friends. They can’t be that bad for John B and JJ and Pope to be hanging out with them, right?

“You think she'll come over here?” Kie asks. No one’s ever said it out loud, but her friends wonder if deep down, Kie was a little jealous of you. Because you were their first real girl friend. You were the first girl they ever let in and opened their heart too. That was a tough pill for Kie to swallow when she originally thought she was that girl. Of course the boys don’t like you any more than Kie and vice versa. But sometimes Kie wishes she could have grown up with the boys the same way you had. 

“Probably not. Unless she’s drinking,” Pope says and motions towards the keg they’re near. 

“I have an idea,” John B says and fills up a red solo cup. He hands it to JJ. “Why don’t you go offer her a cup.”

JJ snags the cup out of John B’s hand and glares at him. “Fuck off, dude.” 

“Do you guys ever see her around at school?” Pope asks the girls.

Sarah shrugs. “Not really. She doesn’t really get a long with my old group of friends.”

Kie rolls her eyes. “No one gets along with your old group of friends.”

Sarah playfully shoves Kie by the shoulder and they laugh. 

“I heard she turned down Raymond Easterling a couple weeks ago and he didn’t take it very well,” Pope says, remembering the words he heard from the kids in his class roaming the school hallways. 

Raymond goes to Kildcare County High with the Pogues. He’s known to be a trouble maker and a class clown. He works with JJ at the country club. The kid can make JJ laugh sometimes, but he wouldn’t necessarily say he likes him all that much. He can be an arrogant asshole with an ego bigger than it should be.

“She turns down everybody,” Sarah says. “Some people at my school call her ‘The Heart Sucker’ because she can pull people in with the snap of her fingers and break their heart just as quickly.”

Something stirred in the pit of JJ’s stomach.

“Hey! Where you going?” John B calls out to JJ who’s making his way deeper into the sea of people on the beach. 

“Taking advantage of a good boneyard party, my friend,” JJ calls back and slugs the rest of his beer. Looking left and right, he searches for the blonde he had eyes on earlier. Because right now, he needed a distraction. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The party starts to die down a little after midnight. Some people leave to find another party, some are passed out in the back of their cars, and others had already found what they were looking for - someone to leave with. 

The boneyard party wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be. You had found a couple of kids from your school who were nice enough to make small talk with you while Andre left to find a guy named Devon, a Touron he’s been talking to who’s renting for the entire summer. 

Now you’re waiting for Andre to come back so the two of you can walk home. You find comfort under a slanted palm tree towards the back of the beach, scrolling through random apps on your phone to pass the time.

“Y/N?” You look up from you phone and smile when you see your former best friend inching closer to you, squinting in the dark to see if it’s really you. 

“Maybank? What are you still doing here?” You stand up and pat the sand off your hands on you thighs. 

Your heart skips a beat in your chest when you look at him. He’s beautiful. Lucious blonde hair, perfectly tanned skin, piercing blue eyes. You always knew JJ was going to grow up to be gorgeous. He was cute when he was younger. At least you always thought so. 

“I was just leaving, but I thought I saw you sitting here and wanted to make sure you were all right.” He knows it’s not like you to stay this late at a party, especially all by yourself. When he first saw you sitting there, he didn’t know if he should say something. Mostly due to nerves of seeing you again. But the other Pogues had already left and he didn’t trust anyone else at the party to be near you alone late at night. It didn’t matter if you were sober or not. 

“Aw. Was JJ Maybank worried about me?” You tease. Talking to him felt easy. As if you never stopped being friends. A few years ago, you and JJ had the best banter. Despite constantly bickering back and forth, John B always swore the two of you would get married one day. The two of you just always clicked like a natural connection. And even now, when only seeing each other every now and then for a few minutes at a time, it felt normal. You smirk when JJ rolls his eyes. “I’m kidding. Yeah, I’m okay. Just waiting for my friend to come back from his little rendezvous,” You say. 

JJ nods. “Did you have a good time? I feel like I never you see at these things.”

“Yeah. Parties aren’t really my thing. But Andre was nervous to meet this guy he’s been talking to for a little while so I came for moral support.”

“Looks like he didn’t need much of the support.”

You shrug. “It’s better that way, anyway. I don’t mind waiting for him. What about you?”

“What about me?” 

“Did you have a good time tonight? I hear your quite the ladies’ man at these things.”

“Come on, Sparky. You know better than to believe everything you hear.”

Your face lights up at the mention of your old nickname. You use to always be busting out the seams with energy. On days where the boys just wanted to chill and play video games, you would drag them to the park for a game of kick ball. Or when they wanted to sleep in after a long week, you showed up at 8 am to drag them out of bed to catch the morning waves. So one day JJ started calling you Sparky, and it stuck with the rest of your little gang. You always pretended to hate it, but secretly you loved it. 

“Oh I don’t believe everything I hear. I do, however, believe what I see. And your arm around that tall blonde in the little black dress looked quite convincing.”

You first saw JJ at the party when he was making his way to the pretty girl by the water. Your teeth involuntarily clenched and there was a twisted feeling in your stomach you couldn’t shake whenever you looked at them. 

In that instant, JJ felt grateful for the dark sky. He felt the rush of heat rise up his neck to his cheeks before he could stop it. He knew the motivation to see that girl was because of you. He just wished you never saw it. But he didn’t know why. 

“I walked her home. She wasn’t my type,” JJ plays it off. 

“I didn’t realize you had a type,” You giggle, but a small part felt relieved to hear this. “So what is it? Your type?”

Hybrids with a Pogue attitude, bright smile, beautiful eyes, and a mouth that could make any sailor turn around, JJ thought. 

“I don’t know. Haven’t figured it out yet.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Well, when you figure it out let me know.”

“Why? So you can transform into my ideal girl?” He teases.

Now you’re the one thankful for the dark sky. “In your dreams, Maybank. But so far, I do have the perfect wing-woman track record, so if you needed help -”

“I don’t think I need any help in that department. Thank you very much.”

You throw your hands up in fake surrender. “Ooo. Touchy subject.”

JJ rolls his eyes at the same time your phone pings with a text message. You pull it out of your shorts pocket and open the text from Andre, telling you to leave without him because he’s gonna stay out late with Devon and won’t know what time he’s going to be done.

“Everything all right?” JJ says, watching you read the message.

You lock your phone and stuff it in your back pocket again. “Like I said. Perfect wing-woman track record.”

“That was Andre?” 

“Yeah. He’s most likely not coming home tonight.”

“Lucky bastard.”

“At least one of us is,” You joke. 

JJ’s grin slightly falters but you don’t catch it. You have no idea how much he wishes the two of you could be equally as lucky. Together. 

“Well, I should probably go,” You say and bend down to grab your flip flops.

“Let me walk you home,” JJ offers. 

“Oh no. It’s okay -”

“You’re cute. It’s wasn’t up for debate. I’m not letting you walk back by yourself.”

You scoff lightly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Just humor me.”

You roll your eyes and smirk but choose not to argue. In fact, you’re excited to spend more time with JJ. It’s been so long.

“Fine.”

“And here I thought you might’ve grown out of your stubborn phase by now.”

You shove him playfully by the shoulder. “Shut up!”

And just like that, it felt like old times.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 3,324 Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, typical TWD stuff A/N: This is Part 6 of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Daryl worries about Y/N after the traumatic incident outside the wall.

Your name: submit What is this?

Daryl didn’t see you that whole day after he had talked with Rick, or the next morning so he decided to pay you a visit and make sure you were okay. He wiped his hands on the rag he always kept in his back pocket and put away the tools he had been using to work on his bike. Just as he was getting ready to leave, Aaron stepped out into the garage and Daryl greeted him with a nod.

“Done for the day?”

Daryl shrugged. “For now at least.” He thoughtfully chewed his bottom lip for a moment. “Hey, uhh, ya seen Y/N since that night we got back?”

Aaron’s face fell a bit but he nodded. “I stopped by her place yesterday.”

Daryl leaned back against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. “How’d she seem?”

Aaron shrugged and sighed heavily. “She seemed… okay. I don’t think she’s been sleeping,” he said a little hesitantly. He shook his head, frowning. “The bruising on her neck… it’s bad. Thank God you were there.”

Daryl’s stomach flipped at the thought. “Ya… Well, the whole thing was bad. Those people? Seemed like—” he hesitated to say what was on his mind, to confide in Aaron, but he also felt like it was eating him alive. Maybe if he spoke it, he would feel less consumed by it. “It seemed like they knew her.”

Aaron’s brow drew down low over his eyes. “Hmm. What do you mean?”

“I heard ‘em say she was comin’ ‘back where she belongs.’ And more than that—if they had wanted to kill her, she’d be dead. They both had guns and knives on ‘em. But they didn’t. They were tryin’ ta take her.”

The shadow on Aaron’s face deepened and he rubbed a hand thoughtfully over his chin and mouth. “Well, I don’t think I need to tell you that the intentions of some men out there in this world are even more emboldened now,” he said with disgust.

“Yeah… But ain’t the first time neither. That night I stitched up that gash in her arm she said the same thing. She said ‘if they had wanted to kill me, I’d be dead.’”

Aaron gulped and shook his head. “I don’t know what—I just—I don’t know,” he said vaguely. “She hasn’t told me much about before.”

Daryl turned back to the table and fiddled with some of the parts. “Seems like she’s got a target painted on her. Maybe she shouldn’t be out,” he thought aloud.

Aaron shook his head. “Yeah, well that will never happen. Trying to keep her inside Alexandria is like trying to hold water in your hands. We’d probably have to lock her up.” He sighed heavily again and rested his hands on his hips. “Whatever is out there, whatever her past is… she knows the risks of going out. There isn’t going to be any convincing her to stay inside.”

Daryl nodded and chewed the side of his thumbnail. “Ya…”

Aaron let out a wry laugh. “I mean, can you imagine if someone told you that you needed to stay inside?”

One corner of Daryl’s mouth twitched upwards. “Ya. I know. Ain’t happenin’.” Daryl sighed. “Well, I guess the only thing for it is to try to convince her not to go alone.”

Aaron smiled at the archer. “Sounds reasonable. Know anyone for the job?” he joked. Daryl shot him a look and Aaron laughed and held his hands up. “See you later, Daryl.”

Daryl hummed an acknowledgement, set down the part he’d been anxiously fiddling with, and headed out of the garage in the direction of your house.

He felt a bit nervous as he climbed the stairs on your front porch, noticing how clammy his palms suddenly felt, and when first he knocked there was a long silence. He wondered if you were going to answer the door at all and a distinct worry seized him—that you really weren’t okay. But, finally, he could hear some soft footsteps approaching the other side of the door and then it opened a crack.

You peeked out hesitantly but as soon as you saw it was Daryl you opened the door wide. “Daryl. Hi.”

He cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “Hey.”

Aaron was right. You looked exhausted. There were dark circles under your eyes and your shoulders were somewhat slumped.

You continued to peer at him, waiting for some explanation for why he was standing there at your door.

“I, uhh—I hadn’t seen ya since we got back. Just wanted to see if ya needed anything. Ya know, and see how you’re healin’ up.”

“Oh. That’s—you want to come in?” you offered stepping back to make way for his broad-shouldered frame.

“Thanks,” Daryl murmured as he crossed the threshold. You shut the door behind him and he followed you up the hall and into the kitchen. He could see a pillow and blanket laid out on the couch in the living room. It looked like you’d been camping out there. He gave you a questioning glance. “So, how ya feelin’?” Daryl’s eyes found the dark bruising around your neck.

“I’m fine. Thanks,” you said a little quietly.

He considered you thoughtfully for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Ya sure?”

You sighed heavily and pressed a hand to your forehead. “Yeah. I just—haven’t slept really,” you admitted.

Daryl nodded, looking again at the makeshift bed in your living room. “Ya camping out down here?”

You followed him as he trailed over to peer at the blankets spilling off the couch and onto the floor. “Uhh… sort of. I thought maybe a change of scenery would help.” And you had the thought that if you were on the ground floor, you’d hear someone trying to break into your house…

“Did it?” he asked, his blue eyes finding yours.

“Not really.”

The archer’s brow drew down, veiling his eyes in shadow, and he let out a hum of acknowledgement. “Ya know if having other people around would help, ya could—” he cleared his throat again, his heart racing, “ya could come stay over at our place. We’ve got a full house. Ya know, if—if it’d feel safer. Ya could take my bed. It’s in the basement away from everybody.” He watched your eyelashes flutter as you looked up at him in surprise.

“Oh. I can’t—that—that’s okay,” you said, averting your eyes back down toward your feet.

Daryl’s heart was pounding as he offered up his second idea, nervously rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, I—I could stay over here. Just to, ya know, keep an eye on things. If it’d help.” Your eyes lifted back up to his face again and there was that vulnerability in your eyes again that always surprised him. He watched as your lips parted slightly as you prepared to speak.

“I can’t—I can’t ask you to do that,” you said softly, quickly averting your eyes from the sudden softness in his and fiddling with the hem of your sleeve.

“Ya ain’t askin’. I offered,” he said. “If ya think it’d help ya get some sleep. You’re healin’ up. Ya need it.”

You glanced up at him again, now your expression was somewhat guarded as you took him in. You gulped at the nervous lump in your throat. “They aren’t gonna miss you over there?” you asked hesitantly.

“Nah,” he said.

You watched him for a long moment, considering his offer, but at length you nodded, remembering how well you had slept with him nearby even outside of Alexandria’s walls. Since you’d gotten back the nightmares had returned and gotten worse, likely a result of your latest encounter. “Okay. If—if you don’t mind.”

Daryl’s heart fluttered at the grateful look you gave him, your eyes fixed on him and only him. He nodded. “I dun mind.” He nudged his nose up at you twice in a nod. “I’ll come by later.” You watched as he stalked into the kitchen and went over to the refrigerator.

“What are you doing?” You watched him pull it open and look inside before glancing back over his shoulder at you.

He closed the door pointedly. “Just what I thought. Ain’t got no damn food in here either. Ya been eatin’?”

You gulped and shrugged vaguely.

“Ya, uh huh. I’ll bring somethin’ later. Ya need to eat,” he rumbled. He started to stride quickly to the front door and you trailed a little behind him. He stopped on the threshold and looked back at you. There was that softness in his eyes again that always made your heart jump. “I’ll be back later, alright?”

You avoided his eyes, feeling suddenly silly and ashamed of what you were asking him to do, that you needed someone else when you tried so hard not to need anyone or anything. His deep voice, rough with gravel called your eyes back to his.

“Hey. It ain’t no big deal. Alright?” he said, trying to reassure you, reading the shame on your face as clearly as if the word had been tattooed on your forehead.

You nodded a little, giving in to his reassurance. “Okay.”

“’Kay,” he agreed. You watched him cross the porch and go down your stairs, headed back home. That’s what he had. A home. It hit you that all you really had was an empty house and your heart ached. It was the price you paid for trying to keep almost everyone at arm’s length. You sighed heavily and shut the door.

Several hours later, there was another knock on the front door. You got up from your spot on the couch, still carrying your book and went to the door. Daryl was standing there with his crossbow slung over his shoulder and a small container in his hands. Night had fallen outside and the porchlights illuminated the strong angles of his jaw. You felt a flush in your cheeks and hoped he couldn’t see it.

You stepped back and gestured for him to come in.

“Brought ya some stew. Venison. We’ve still got a bunch of it,” he said, heading immediately for the kitchen and starting to open cabinets, looking for a pot to dump it in so he could heat it up. “And you’re eatin’ some of this now.” He paused and looked up at you over the counter. “When is the last time ya ate?”

“Uhh…”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you. “Too damn long, then.” He resumed his searching and eventually succeeded. He set it on the stove to heat up. You sank down onto one of the kitchen stools at the island, watching him as he stirred the hearty meal. Daryl turned around and took in your expression from across the kitchen, slinging his crossbow off his shoulder and letting it hang at his side.

“Whatcha readin’?” he asked.

Your eyes shot up at the sound of his voice. “Oh, uhh… it’s just this classic novel. The Brothers Karamazov.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed as he looked at you. “The what?”

You actually smiled at him, your whole face lighting up. Daryl felt his heart flutter and he was relieved to see that some of the weight that seemed to be on you was lifted, even if just for a moment. “Yeah, it’s a mouthful,” you said. “I’ve got this thing for the great Russian writers so…”

“Russian, huh? What’s so special about ‘em?”

“They just—I don’t know. They write these beautiful, insane, touching, tragic stories. I just—” you shrugged. “The writing is incredible, even in translation.” You paused thoughtfully and Daryl felt a warmth in his chest as you looked down at the novel in your hand and smoothed your hand over the cover, staring at it like it was something precious. “And I suppose now, since the world changed, the tragedy in the stories is even more relatable,” you said softly.

Daryl felt a pang in his heart at your words. Your eyes flitted back up to meet his and he felt a spark of electricity jump up his spine.

Daryl rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and hoisted his crossbow up onto the counter, using it as an excuse to break eye contact with you as he felt suddenly terrified of the magnetic pull he was feeling.

“What’d you tell everybody?” you asked quietly.

Daryl didn’t look up from the bolt he was examining closely. “Didn’t tell ‘em nothin’.”

“Won’t they worry about where you are?”

He shrugged. “Nah. S’fine.” He quickly turned back to the stew on the stove which now had curls of steam rising from the surface of it. He pulled open some more cabinets until he found a bowl and quickly poured stew from the pan into it before setting it in front of you. He opened drawers until he found a spoon, which he slid over to you with a metallic clinking against the granite of the countertop. You were giving him a queer look. “What?”

You shook your head, one corner of your mouth twitching up. “Nothing.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, his eyes narrowed. “Eat,” he drawled.

The corners of your eyes crinkled in a smile. “You’re awfully bossy today,” you joked, picking up the spoon. You stared down into the stew, not feeling the least bit hungry despite not eating anything all day.

He let out a scoff and leaned on his forearms on the counter, his curtain of brown hair falling forward around his face. “I’m bossy when someone needs bossin’,” he quipped.

You took a bite of the stew, holding the spoon a bit awkwardly with the brace on your wrist, and chewed it slowly. Daryl watched you carefully. The smile on your face had disappeared again and he couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting to the bruises on your neck. He felt a renewed flush of hot anger every time. He sighed and straightened up, picking up his crossbow and slinging it over his shoulder in a well-practiced habit.

“How’re your ribs feelin’?” he drawled.

You dipped your spoon back into the bowl of stew and shrugged. “Fine. Really, I’m fine.”

Daryl nodded, but you could tell he was a little skeptical. He moved around the counter and into the living room, sinking into a chair and kicking his feet up to rest on the coffee table. You dutifully sat and ate your stew until it was gone before going to join him with your book. You pushed the blankets on the couch out of the way and allowed yourself to watch the nimble workings of his strong fingers as he fiddled with his bow and the narrowing of his blue eyes in concentration. Your heart increased its pace. Finally, you broke the silence again. “Thanks for doing this,” you said. You hadn’t meant for it to come out in a whisper but it had, the tightness in your throat from shame and nerves strangling your voice a little.

The workings of Daryl’s fingers ceased for a moment and he looked like he was frozen, turned to stone. “I dun mind,” he finally said. His blue eyes lifted and met yours and briefly he thought he saw some glistening light there, but in a moment he had blinked and it was gone. You were simply pulling the blanket over your lap and running your fingers along the spine of your book. Daryl pulled out a sharpening stone and went about carefully sharpening some of his bolts. You settled back against the couch and opened your book, curled up beneath the blanket. It was strange how usual, how comfortable this felt. Each passing moment of silence, each murmur to one another, each question and response all felt so easy, and that was something Daryl kept turning over and over in his mind. He wasn’t used to that. He wasn’t used to feeling so at home around another person and it was becoming a habit with you. The thought made him bounce his knee nervously.

Daryl wasn’t sure when, but at some point as he sat across from you sharpening his bolts you had drifted off to sleep. Your book was still open but had dropped down onto your chest, your left hand resting on it. Your breathing was slow and deep and Daryl felt a wave of warmth and gladness wash over him that you were actually asleep. And he wondered at the fact that not only were your comfortable enough with him around to fall asleep, but he was what enabled you to when you otherwise couldn’t. Did you think of him as safety? God, he hoped so… He was puzzling over this, smoothing his thumb across his lower lip as he took in your soft expression and the way your hair was falling around your face.

He felt his heart speed up as his eyes traced the gentle pout of your mouth and the slope of your nose in profile. He rubbed a hand at the warm and achy feeling in his chest that was becoming common, annoyed at how his mind was running away on him...

The archer stood and silently crossed the room to you. He grasped one corner of your open book and slipped it gently from your hands, setting it on the coffee table. He pulled the blanket up over you before retreating back to his chair and his bow.

You awoke as the sun was coming up, lighting the living room slowly, drenching everything in warm light. You blinked a few times, getting your bearings, and then gingerly pulled yourself up into a sitting position. Your eyes landed on the archer, asleep in his chair with his head cocked to one side, his bow leaning up against the armrest next to him. He must have heard you stirring because he was awake the next instant, taking in a deep breath and straightening. His eyes meeting yours. “Hey.” The gravel in his voice was thick, heavy with sleep still.

“Hey,” you replied. Daryl was relieved to see how much brighter your eyes looked. The dark circles beneath them were also diminished.

“I didn’t—I slept,” you said with gentle surprise.

He nodded. “Ya. Ya were exhausted. Ya fell asleep early. Ya needed it,” he said, grabbing his crossbow and pulling it onto his lap, his heart rushing at the sight of your somewhat tousled hair and the rosy glow in your cheeks.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

He nodded and stood, throwing his bow over his shoulder again. “S’nothin’. Glad ya got some sleep.”

You pulled yourself up, subconsciously wrapping an arm around your ribs as they panged with the movement. Daryl was already heading through the kitchen and toward the front door. He stopped and his blue eyes fixed on your face. “Ya know, I get ‘em too sometimes,” he said quietly.

You heart raced. Had he guessed why you weren’t sleeping so easily? “What?”

“Nightmares,” he said. “About the people we’ve lost. About losing more.”

You gulped at the tightness in your throat and nodded. “Yeah…”

“I’ll see ya later, Y/N,” he drawled. He pointed at you sharply. “Eat some more of that damn stew.”

You smiled at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling. “You got it.”

[royallyjoon]

nephilim (deux)

you know where the cred goes 💙

cult au, supernatural creature au

yandere! ot7 x f! reader

warnings: yandere themes, violent behavior, manipulation

deep in the forest lies the home to the infamous, successful kim family. you steeled yourself to enter the lions’ den, where kind, masked souls surrounded you, welcoming you with open hearts and open arms. you, however, still keep your wits about you. you protect yourself by getting comfortable, but not too close. but it’s alright. put your guard up to your hearts’ content. you are their favorite past time, after all. either way, sooner or later, you will be theirs...

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

The five Kim siblings couldn’t be more elated, watching the object of their eye sleep without a care in the world.

They remained quiet, speaking in whispers as they strove not to wake you up. Your guarded attitude around them had escaped no one, and they, quite frankly, found it adorable.

You were the only one who didn’t wear your emotions on your sleeve around them.

The sleek, black van turned corner after corner around the winding paths of Ichabod, passing homes, places of commerce, and office buildings.

The Kim family lived deep within the woods, not too far away from the base of the monthly gatherings. All of the other town dwellers would walk from their homes, located at various points in the city, into the twisting black woods in order to appear at the meeting on time.

For the Kims would accept nothing less than perfection.

After another twenty minutes, Driver Bin cautiously approached a narrow dirt path and he directed the car onto the incline, winding upwards on the hill. The car then veered off to the right, entering a secluded road that would lead specifically to the Kim family mansion. 

It stood, raised on wooden platforms with impressive glass windows. The exterior shone in the afternoon sunlight, polished cherry wood glistening through the orange and green leaves on the forest trees.

There was no ostentatious fountain or statue outside the front of the home, nor were there piled bodies of the forsaken lying around their grounds, contrary to popular schoolyard taunts and beliefs. 

Only a winding, wooden staircase that led to the front door. 

The boys stared out the window, gaze breaking away from you for only a moment as they watched the approaching front gate.

A black, iron-wrought masterpiece, as well as their father’s pride and joy: the front gate worked all too well at keeping unwanted guests outside and favored guests inside of the Kim household.

Each of the brothers had grown up detesting that gate. Whether on purpose or by accident, it kept them locked up from the outside world, ostracizing them even more than they had already thought possible.

But now, as the old iron monstrosity creaked open, and as they watched their beloved sleep ever so sweetly....

Why, they wouldn’t have wished for anything other than for that gate to close once and for all, leaving you with them forever.

The metal closed with an ominous clang, and the van pulled into the home’s garage as the sun began to set.

——————————————————————

You peeled your eyes open, disoriented for just a moment before pure panic bled through.

The last thing you remembered was getting into the Kim’s car on your way to their home.

But now, you lay in a queen size, four poster bed covered with soft (f/c) sheets. The dark brown, wooden frame had beautiful gossamer, white sheets hanging down, wrapped around each end so that you could sit up without them getting in your way.

You looked down and found your school uniform still on, albeit a bit wrinkled. There was a sweater a bit too large for you wrapped around your shoulders. Your shoes were no longer on your feet, and the thought of someone taking those off for you made you flustered.

You weren’t sure how you had gotten to the room, but logic reasoned that one of the boys must have brought you in here to rest...

Your face twisted into an unreadable expression...you weren’t particularly sure how to feel about that. 

You should thank them and apologize, of course, but still, the entire situation only heightened your unease.

Your phone and backpack lay on the table next to the bed, and you picked the device up, checking the time. To your surprise, it had only been an hour since you left the school grounds. 

You texted your mother that you had arrived before getting off the bed and walking to the door in your socks. Before you could open it, however, your phone began to buzz in your hand.

“Hello?”

“(Y/N)! Is everything alright?” Your mother’s voice, tired but worried, sounded out from across the line. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine! We just got here. I had to use the bathroom so they led me to a guest room; that’s where I am right now.” You paced around the room as you spoke before sitting on the edge of the bed and fingering the silk canopy.

You decided not to tell your mother about the falling asleep part. What she didn’t know couldn’t worry her.

“That’s good. I get out of work in a couple of hours, I’ll call you when I’m on my way. Just tell me how the project’s going in the meantime, okay?” 

“Yeah, sure.” She cautioned you one more time before hanging up the phone.

You put it in your skirt pocket and pulled open the wooden door, relieved by the fact that it made no sound. It led you to a hallway and you carefully walked out into it, making sure not to disturb anyone.

You surmised that you were located on the bottom floor of the house. The room you were in had been situated at the very end of the hallway, and you found the lack of noise unsettling. 

At first, the only thing you could hear was the soft padding of your socked feet on the hardwood floor, but as you walked down the hallway, the sound of talking and laughing got louder and louder. 

You peeked your head around the corner to see all five of the boys seated in a sort of lounge with large, floor-to-ceiling glass windows. 

The Kims had somehow managed to perfectly blend the appearance of old money with the taste and style of new money artwork and design. The house looked like something straight out of a romantic fiction, young adult novel.

As you looked around the living room, it was somewhat hard for you to take in the amount of wealth in the home. The windows offered a splendid view of the surrounding forest from the inside, although clouded a bit by coffee voile curtains. Before them sat two settees with a small, rounded glass table between them. Closer to the entrance where you stood sat a gray sofa across from a much longer, L-shaped couch.

Taehyung and Jimin sat roughhousing passionately on the sofa while Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jungkook sat on the longer couch opposite them. The former was laughing at the two’s shenanigans, clapping his hands in glee and the latter two were occupied with separate activities: Namjoon reading, occasionally pushing his glasses up on his face and Jungkook concerned with something on his phone.

You hesitantly walked out. “...Jimin?”

All five heads snapped up as they watched you approach.

Jimin’s face broke out into an even bigger smile and he jumped up to stand in front of you. “(Y/N)! How are you feeling? Are you alright?”

“Did you sleep well?” Taehyung smiled mischievously from the couch, but you could tell from his tone that he meant well.

Your cheeks darkened in embarrassment. “Yeah! I’m so sorry about that, I just..didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. I thought I had handled my fatigue pretty well, but I guess it never actually left. You could’ve woken me up, you know...” You spoke with your head down, looking at your hands as they wrung together.

You heard the room go silent for a moment, just as you feared it would. When you looked up, all five of the boys had an enigmatic expression on their face.

It sent chills down your back, just how quickly their attitudes had switched. They went from joyful laughter and peaceful content to emotions you felt were unstable...you sensed a bit of helplessness paired with indifference, and the slightest hint of anger and contempt. 

Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest idea to remind of them of the reason why they were ostracized so much, why they were seen as different. You mentally smacked yourself in the forehead, making a note to be more sensitive about the topic while you were in their presence.

The sound of a hardcover book snapping shut broke the silence, causing you to jump. 

Namjoon gently placed the book he was reading on the couch’s armrest and looked at you with a cordial smile. “You should take better care of yourself, (Y/N). It wouldn’t do for you to fall asleep in your classes or end up unwell.”

With that sentence, the spell was broken. 

Jimin gently took your forearm and tugged you into the direction of the sofa he was sitting on earlier, pouting as he spoke. “I should have known...you looked ready to drop since our break this morning.”

He seated you and took the place on your right as you waved him off. “It’s fine, it was my fault-”

“If you still want to rest, feel free to go back to the guest room!” Taehyung added, claiming the spot on the other side of you.

“Never feel like you have to hide how you feel around us, (Y/N).” Hoseok said with another winning grin, leaning forward in his seat. 

You blinked warily at all of their support. “Well...thanks, guys.”

Your eyes stopped on Jungkook, who was staring at you, and his heavy gaze made you itch.

You leaned back in your seat and felt the sweater you’d woken up with start to slip. 

You pulled it off of your shoulders, beginning to question how it even got there in the first place, and met eyes with Jungkook again. “Is this yours...?”

He nodded and opened his mouth to speak for the first time. “You were shivering in your sleep in the car. I thought you might need it, so I left it with you after I carried you in.”

You folded it and handed it back to him, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. “Thank you, Jungkook. Again, I’m sorry for falling asleep on you all like that.”

He took it from you, large eyes getting slightly wider in wonder. 

“It’s alright, (Y/N). We’re glad to help you out with whatever you need.” Namjoon nodded and smiled, the dimple in his left cheek prominent. You smiled, a bit more relaxed now but still cautious of your behavior.

“Thank you for welcoming me to your lovely home, then.” You replied, admiring the layout once more.

“Aww, she thinks our home is lovely.” Taehyung gushed. “Seokjin hyung would love to hear that someone finally appreciates his taste in design.”

You cocked your head at him. “Your brother designed this living room?”

“Our eldest brother,” Jimin gushed. “He threw a huge tantrum a couple of years ago, complaining to our parents about how much he couldn’t stand the decor, so they let him draw up a design plan...then they ended up going along with it.”

“He and Yoongi hyung, our other brother, are usually studying away at college,” Taehyung went on. “Our parents bought them an apartment in the city so they could be closer to the campus, but because they have to be present for the meetings, they come back home for a bit every month.”

“They were here last night, but then they had to leave immediately.” Hoseok added.

Before the discussion could continue, you heard the sound of sharp clacks approaching the room.

“My darling sons,” A tilting voice spoke from the entryway and out came one of the most beautiful women you’d ever seen (aside from your mother, of course). 

She glided across the wooden floor in sensibly high heels, a silk dress complementing her figure and a tan blazer resting on her shoulders. In her hands, she carried a silver tray full of neatly arranged snacks. 

“I brought a little something for you all to enjoy! I know how hungry you all get-oh....who is this?” She slowed with a smile as she approached the couch.

Kim Eunbyul was not a person meant to be taken lightly. Her status in this town was no different than royalty, and she exemplified grace with every step that she took. 

As expected of the two time winner of the Pluton Actress Award.

You stared at her in amazement before you quickly snapped back to your senses and rose, giving a polite bow in greeting. “Good evening, Mrs. Kim! I’m (Y/N) (L/N).”

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing,” she hummed, laying the tray on the table. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N). Might I ask why you’ve decided to visit our humble home?”

“She’s here on my invitation, Mother.” Jimin spoke and your gaze snapped over to him in shock. His tone sounded so...flat, so unfazed, so unlike every other expression you’d heard him use today. “We have a group project for Mrs. Hargrove’s class, one that will be a considerable part of our grade.”

“Alright, I understand.” She chided him slightly, seemingly used to his attitude. She came to stand before you, leaning a good couple of inches above you. “Let me get a good look at you.”

You smiled at her—an actual smile this time, albeit a small one—as she grasped your hands in hers. 

To your surprise, you could feel them tremble slightly.

You stood there, making an effort to avoid eye contact as she studied you. When you looked to the brothers’ in an attempt for nonverbal help, your breath hitched.

The siblings gazed at their mother with something likened to...no, something that was utter detestation.

Jungkook payed her no mind, his thumb obsessively stroking the sweater he held in his possession once more. 

Hoseok and Taehyung openly glared at their mother behind her back, the elder’s lips frowning in annoyance and the younger’s twisting into a sneer.

Jimin’s eyes glued onto her, oozing indifference, his gaze all too similar to the one he’d sent Mrs. Hargrove earlier that day. 

Namjoon simply watched his mother with cocky amusement glinting in his eyes.

Mrs. Kim gave your hands a gentle squeeze and she smiled. “You have a wonderful energy around you, my dear. You possess a wisdom far beyond your years, and great power as well. I advise you to be wary of some of the people around you, though. They may want to steal your power for themselves.” She gave a small sigh and pat the back of your hands before lowering them gently.

“Thank...you?” You smiled at her in polite confusion. As far as you knew, Mrs. Kim was an actress. No one had said anything about her being able to tell people’s fortunes.

Your classmates would have called her a witch.

But with her husband acting as Wylynne’s divine messenger, would she truly have no powers herself...?

“Of course, my dear.” She gave you one last smile. “Please, enjoy yourself, and make yourself right at home. Our doors will always be open to you.”

She then left the living room, not so much as sparing a glance towards her sons. Not that they would have wanted it anyway, for they looked as though they couldn’t stand a second longer of her presence.

You watched her go, leaving with the same grace that she came in with, but much quicker than before. 

Your palm still tickled from the feeling of her trembling hand in yours.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon stood up, brushing off his uniform pants. “I wouldn’t take her prediction to heart. Our mother tends to do that to everyone she meets-”

“Are they true?”

“...What?” 

Just as you started getting slightly comfortable in this bizarre atmosphere, Namjoon’s intense stare brought you back to the present, reminding you of your place.

“Is there some truth to her evaluations?” You innocently asked, trying not to cave under the weight of the older boy’s attention.

“I must admit, I wouldn’t know,” he chuckled, his gaze softening, “we’re the only ones she refuses to do a reading on.”

You nodded, intrigued. “I see. I just find those interesting, is all...”

“Well,” Jimin interrupted, hopping up and clapping his hands. “we should get started on our project!”

“I left my bag in the room, I should go get it.” You turned to go in the general direction of the hallway from which you came but was stopped by Taehyung gently grabbing your elbow. 

“Here!” He stood up, toeing his sandals off and sliding them in your direction. “Jungkook took your shoes off and placed them at the front of the house with the rest of ours, so you might need these.”

“Oh! Thank you. I’ll be sure to return them before I leave.” You smiled at him.

He blushed and grinned in return. 

Jungkook's hair fell into his eyes as he looked down in shame. “I should have prepared a pair of slippers for you while you were sleeping, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it!” You claimed, just to watch his eyes light up again.

“Good luck on the project, you two!” Hoseok said, turning to leave.

“Let me come with you, (Y/N)!” Jimin said, taking you by the hand. “We’ll be right back, Namjoon hyung!”

He pulled you towards the entryway and you heard the boys start to disassemble behind you, heading off toward their respective locations with the exception of Namjoon, who sat back down on the couch to wait.

You traipsed down the hallway with Jimin. “I think your mother is a lovely person,” you quietly stated.

Jimin didn’t pause, but his grip on your elbow tightened before he turned to you, eyes scrunched together because of his wide smile. “I’m glad you think so! I think she likes you as well.”

You smiled back at him, carefully watching his expression, before turning your gaze to the wood floor. He stood at the doorway as you grabbed your bag and arranged the bed. 

When that was finished, the two of you walked down the hallway and met up with Namjoon, and ascended to the third floor of the home.

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

The Kims’ library looked like something out of Beauty and the Beast, though it was nowhere near as grandiose in height. Your inner bookworm squealed at the sight of all the books lining the shelves, as well as the plush couch and beanbags resting in the leftmost corner of the library. 

You held on to the strap of your bag, following Jimin and Namjoon as they weaved their way through multiple bookcases.

Namjoon reached a dilapidated wooden shelf at the back of the room. His fingers trailed over the book backings and he backtracked and picked one up, blowing the dust off of it only to end up coughing. Jimin muffed his giggle as he covered his nose and mouth with his sweater sleeve.

“I believe this is what you were looking for,” he said once his coughing fit was over, “The Word of the Lost.”

What a fascinating title...

“Ah, yes, hyung! This is exactly what we needed!” Jimin’s eyes practically sparkled as he took the book from his brother. It was an old, leather bound thing and the glossy pages flashed underneath the dim library lights. 

It reminded you of the older bibles with illuminated pages.

“Thank you for helping us look.” You said. Namjoon nodded toward you with his classic student-body-president smile.

“Of course. I thumbed through this book many times as a child.” Namjoon said. “I’m sure you both will be able to find a fascinating creature to do your report on.” 

The three of you walked out from the labyrinth of shelves and you beelined toward the couch, making yourself comfortable.

Jimin came to sit next to you, placing the book on his lap and waving goodbye to his brother. While you were bent over retrieving your school materials, Namjoon returned the wave with a smirk and left the library, leaving the two of you to your work.

You pulled out your notebook and a writing utensil, turning to Jimin as your academic weariness set in once more. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” he stated, opening the book. “I don’t spend as much time in the library as Namjoon hyung, but I do remember there being a host of creatures in this book...”

UnFortunately, Namjoon’s recollection of the text was spot on. There were so many mythological creatures, you and Jimin were overwhelmed and didn’t know which one to pick.

“How about banshees?” Jimin suggested. 

“The harbingers of death?” You mused. “I know of them. They’re one of my favorites.”

“Ah...then what about the wendigo?”

You shuddered. “I know about them as well; their folklore is so interesting, but so creepy.”

Jimin nodded, paging through the novel again. “We could research golems?”

You smiled and shook your head. “I’ve heard about them before relative to Jewish mythology...and they’re somewhat similar to the Egyptian ushabti.”

Jimin playfully groaned and dropped his head back onto the couch. “You’re so learned, (Y/N)! How did you hear about all of these mythological figures?”

You shrugged and smiled a bit, doodling in your notebook. “I’ve just come across them in some way or another...usually through the media.”

You gently took the book off of Jimin’s lap and decided to thumb through it yourself, turning to the chapter list to see the different branches of creatures. Your finger ran down the list before stopping at a certain name. 

“...Jimin, have you ever heard anything about nephilim?”

He stiffened and his brows furrowed. “No. What are they?” 

You flipped the book to the demonstrated page number and began reading. “‘Nephilim are creatures conceived of humans and angels. These fascinating individuals are born with immense amounts of both angelic grace and the original sin of human beings.’” You beamed. “Perfect! This creature sounds the most interesting-”

You turned to speak to Jimin and found his face uncomfortably close to yours. Gone was the innocent, boyish expression on his face, replaced by an endearing and inquisitive stare.

You immediately turned your head to look back down at the page. “-of the creatures...and the least known,” you mumbled, hoping he couldn’t see the tint of red on your cheeks.

Rather than taking the book for himself, Jimin started reading it over your shoulder. You tried not to breathe too hard with his proximity.

He’s too close...

“‘As they mature, they must come to terms with their proclivity to sin and balance it out with their angelic nature. Nevertheless, this arduous task often leaves them with an identity crisis, and most succumb to their sinful natures.’” Once he finished, he turned to you with an impressed look. “You’re right! This sounds really interesting, and if you haven’t heard of these figures, then they should definitely be the one we research.”

“Yeah! So we should get started, then,” you said, pulling out your laptop and casually reseating yourself a couple inches away from Jimin. 

“Mrs. Hargrove wants us to do a presentation as well as write an essay for this project...which do you think we should we work on first?” You asked him, sending your mother your location, and opening a new tab. 

“We could write the essay first, and then pull information from that to combine it with what we find from our research for the presentation.” Jimin suggested, taking out a laptop of his own.

“Sounds good! I shared a document with you.”

The both of you spent the next two hours on your computers, researching as many articles on nephilim as possible. It was somewhat difficult, finding authentic sources about the creatures rather than commentaries on media representations of them, but working off of what The Word of the Lost gave you, there was enough to compile a hefty source list.

After that, however, you, still mentally exhausted, started to get distracted, and then Jimin decided to take a break as well. The project was due near the end of the semester, and the two of you had made enough progress for tonight. You deserved this break.

Outside, the light changed from the orange afternoon sun to the cool blue of evening. Before your very eyes, the sky outside was purple, and the oranges and greens of the leaves had disappeared in the dark, turning into obscure figures and shapes outside the window that left you wanting to pull the curtains closed.

A couple of minutes later, you were startled by the click of the library doors.

Mrs. Kim peered through the opening. “Ah, there you both are!”

She approached you and Jimin with two glasses of water, one in each hand. 

You took the glass she handed to you and expressed your thanks. Her hands didn’t seem to be trembling as much as they were earlier.

“How is it going?”

“We made a lot of progress--I think this project is going to be a good one.” You smiled at her and she returned it, relieved.

She raised a hand and paused, hesitantly lowering it gently into Jimin’s hair and stroking it lovingly. The boy froze, lowering the glass from his lips and turning to look at Mrs. Kim.

“Yes, thank you, Mother.” His tone remained flat.

She breathed out a sigh and nodded at him before turning to you. “(Y/N), darling, I believe your mother has arrived downstairs.”

Your eyes widened and you began packing your school materials. “Oh, really? She didn’t even tell me! I must have overstayed my welcome.”

Mrs. Kim laughed lightheartedly. “Not at all dear. It’s most likely because she encountered my husband along the way. They’re both seated downstairs, talking.”

On the outside, you managed to give Mrs. Kim a pleasant smile. On the inside, however, your thoughts were raging. 

Why, of all people, would Kim Moonsik want to have a conversation with her?

If that old man tries to sacrifice my mother to his creepy little moon goddess, I swear, I’ll-

“I can take you to meet with her, no worries.” Mrs. Kim stated, bringing her blazer closer around her shoulders. “I’ll just wait for you outside.”

She glanced at Jimin once more and turned away, heels clacking on the floor as the click of the door sounded.

You zipped up your bag, having nothing else to pack, and pulled it over your shoulder. 

Before you could stand to leave, however, Jimin gently took your hand in his.

“(Y/N), before you go, I just wanted to say thank you.”

The boy was looking down at his lap, his eyes covered by strands of his hair. You patiently waited for him to finish.

“I know everyone is suspicious of us and would rather not interact with us at all for fear of...” he paused on the last bit, “but you have been the only to one to approach us wholeheartedly.”

“Thank you for not treating us like freaks, or some sort of plague or disease like everyone else.” Jimin raised his head, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes.

You smiled and gently squeezed his hand. “Please, think nothing of it. Why would I treat you like something you’re not?”

“You and your brothers are all just people. You’re a family, just like how everyone else in this town has families.” You spoke quietly. “You may not be the most...orthodox of families, yes, but you’re hardly to blame for that. Who’s to decide what the norm is anyway?”

Besides, I have no reason to hurt you or yours, you thought. 

Jimin huffed out a sob and gathered you in his arms in a hug. You grunted, as it was unexpected, but hesitantly raised your arms to pat him on the back. 

“It’s alright,” you murmured.

Behind your back, Jimin did have tears falling down his face, but rather than a look of sorrow or suffering, sheer, hysterical glee appeared on his face.

He struggled to suppress the broad grin threatening to take over his expression.

The smell of your hair was intoxicating...

“I thank the goddess for you, (Y/N),” he murmured, low enough that you could not make out what he said.

He made sure he regained control of his expression and then pulled away from the hug with a soft smile. He stood up and took your bag for you, much like how you had taken his earlier that day, and led you to his mother, who was waiting outside.

The three of you walked down the two flights of stairs to find Namjoon, Hoseok, and their father speaking with your mother.

She was quite the visage in their home, sitting on the smaller gray sofa, still in her scrubs. 

Kim Moonsik sat in front of her, with one of his sons on either side, looking like interviewers for a job position, while she sat on the edge of the couch opposite them, her hands placed in her lap and looking extremely uncomfortable. 

“Yes, well, working at the hospital has its downsides, but it also has its valuable life experience,” you heard her say. “I truly enjoy caring for and working with all kinds of patients, as well as with the staff of the inter-professional team.”

You heard a hearty laugh, followed by the voice that you were supposed to only be subject to once a month. 

“Careers like yours are crucial in the eyes of the moon goddess, Ms. (L/N). It sounds as though you’re doing a wonderful job.” Kim Moonsik grinned and nodded at your mother, who forced a laugh. “Wylynne looks down on you with favor.” 

“Ah, thank you, Mayor Kim. Praise Wylynne...”

She made eye contact with you as you descended the staircase and quietly sighed in relief.

“There’s our guest for the evening!” Mr. Kim cheered and stood up, walking to stand in front of you and Jimin while his wife slipped by, pressing a kiss to his cheek, as she went to sit next to your mother.

Without the luminescent glow of the moon or the intimidating glow of purple flames streaking across his face, Kim Moonsik almost looked like any other successful businessman and father. He and his wife both had dark hair and dark eyes, and they appeared to be quite the happy couple.

But there was no way that the past several years of monthly meetings was a dream. There was plenty of reason for caution around them, no matter how pleasant they may seem.

Your mother had nagged enough sense into you for you to know that much, at the very least.

You bowed again, hoping your nerves weren’t showing through your voice. “Good evening, Mr. Kim. I’m (Y/N) (L/N). It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He chuckled in a good natured manner. “The pleasure is all mine...I trust you and Jimin were able to accomplish what you needed for your project?”

How did he know? “Ah, yes...we made loads of progress today.” You smiled politely.

“Eunbyul told me all about our visitors just before I arrived,” he responded as though he heard your question and smiled proudly, gently clapping Jimin on the back. “That’s amazing news to hear.”

Jimin smiled cordially, pulling you away from his father and walked over towards his brothers.

“(Y/N)-ie is leaving us now,” Hoseok fake pouted. 

You grimace-smiled at him. 

“Please,” Namjoon scoffed. “She’ll be over here so many times, we’ll start to get sick of her, right (Y/N)?”

“As long as you don’t mind having me over,” you said. “We have until the end of the semester to do the project, so, yeah, I might be over a couple more times...” You slowed as the reality of the situation started to hit. “Actually, Jimin, can I see your phone?”

He handed you his phone and you put your number in his contacts and texted yourself. “Now you have my number, and I have yours.” You smiled at him and handed the device back.

Jimin’s eyes widened in glee and he grinned in return. “Thanks, (Y/N)!”

Hoseok’s fists tightened his pockets.

Kim Eunbyul stood to her feet, her conversation apparently over. “You and your daughter are welcome any time,” she emphasized, placing a hand on your mother’s back. 

“Indeed, Ms. (L/N), Our home is your home.” Kim Moonsik added, placing his hands on his wife’s shoulders.

“Thank you so much, we’re truly grateful for the invitation.” You heard your mother say.

You carefully slid Taehyung’s sandals off your feet and lifted them up. Jimin handed you your backpack in exchange for the sandals and you took it, swinging it over your shoulders. “Please tell Taehyung and Jungkook I said goodbye, and that it was lovely meeting you all.” You said.

“We will!” Hoseok smiled, waving goodbye.

“See you tomorrow at school!” Jimin called and waved enthusiastically.

You waved and bowed to the Kims one more time, then took your mother’s hand and walked down the front steps.

Her car was parked outside the garage (read: haphazardly strewn across the asphalt). 

Your mother got into the front seat and put on her seatbelt without saying a word. Even when she began to drive, she was eerily silent.

It was not until the both of you were outside of the gates, down the hill, and outside of the forest that your mother abruptly stepped on the brakes and unbuckled her seatbelt, exiting the car.

You repeated her movements in alarm, slamming the passenger door shut and running to the other side of the car.

You got there just in time to watch as she keeled over on the side of the road and began to throw up.

“Mom!”

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

Back at the Kim household, the instant the two guests left, a violent chill swept across the room.

Hoseok went to stand threateningly in front of Jimin. “Don’t go around thinking you’re better than the rest of us.”

The younger boy’s grin morphed into a devilish sneer. “Be careful, hyung...it’s starting to sound like you’re jealous.” He shook his phone, still open to (Y/N)’s contact information, tauntingly.

Namjoon scoffed at their bickering before turning his attention to smile at Moonsik and Eunbyul. “Mother...Father...we bid you goodnight.”

Hoseok smirked, following Namjoon up the stairs.

Jimin made a move to go follow them as well, but he stopped in front of Eunbyul. 

“Mother dearest.” The sophomore gripped the woman’s chin, turning her gaze to land directly on him. “As the most talented actress in our county, your performance could have been a bit more...convincing.” 

He looked her up and down, and then released her, throwing her to the right and out of his direct path. Eunbyul stumbled to the side, her form quite visibly shaking.

“I look forward to seeing what you come up with in the future.”

Jimin shouldered Moonsik, climbing past him up to his room on the second floor.

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

Your mother had stopped throwing up, but you continued rubbing her back comfortingly. 

She stood up on wobbly legs and you supported her on the way back to the car. You reached in your bag for your water bottle and some tissues, handing them to her.

She cleaned her mouth off, swished some water around in her mouth, spat it out the window, and then drank some more.

Before you could even ask if she was alright, she turned to you with another stern look. “I was so worried about you.”

Your eyes widened incredulously, but softened just as fast. “Mom, you didn’t have to worry! We were just working on a class project, like I said.”

Your mother nodded and sighed, putting the seatbelt back on. “I understand. It-it’s just terrifying to realize how close you were to-” She trailed off and tried again. “I mean, what if....”

This was a first, for you, to see your mother so visibly shaken. 

She usually was, and is, the epitome of strength in your life. To think that seeing the Kims jarred her to this point...

You grasped your mother’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. They’re just people, Mom.”

“People can be just as dangerous as deities,” she whispered, putting the car into drive.

With that thought, the both of you sat in ominous silence until you had arrived at your home.

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

Once you and your mother arrived, you both had dinner and you ensured that she was able to go to bed of sound mind and heart. From the way she pushed you off of her, you surmised she had collected herself enough to return to her usual temperament.

You made your way up the stairs to your room and threw your bag somewhere near you desk, booking it to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, after a refreshing shower and a change of clothes, you sat at your desk. It was already significantly late, and you still had to complete the other classes’ homework that you didn’t have the chance to start while at the Kim’s.

As you basked in the comfort of your home’s walls, you felt truly relaxed for the first time that night. 

Jimin and his brothers were, for the most part nice, although misunderstood. The student body usually stayed away from them because of their parents and the influence they had on this town.

 Perhaps if this town were normal...

You sighed and immediately chased the thought away. This town was far from normal, that couldn’t be clear enough. And with Kim Moonsik in charge, the sense of unearthliness clearly wouldn’t change any time soon. 

You spent the next couple of hours doing the other assignments to the best of your ability. When you deemed it enough, you decided to call it a night, packing your things away and climbing under the covers.

Just as you began scrolling through social media, your phone vibrated from an incoming notification and your brows furrowed. 

Who was still awake at this hour? And why were they contacting you?

Perhaps it was Mana, you thought, begging to hear details about what it was like at the Kim house before tomorrow. You probably should have texted them when you got home, considering school was no longer the most....open place to have these discussions.

Nevertheless, you opened your messages and, to your surprise, there lay a text from none other than Kim Jimin.

I’m really glad I met you, (Y/N) 😇

Aww, that’s sweet of him, you thought.

You paused, wondering if you should pretend that you’re asleep rather than text him back right now, as the conversation could always continue in the morning.

You also thought of how he might nag you should he discover you’re awake at this hour after passing out in his car and at his house, and winced.

Yes, it would be best to ignore that until tomorrow morning.

Having had enough of the day, you put your phone to charge and pressed your head to the pillow, falling asleep.

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

As Jimin lay in bed that night, he thought about your comment earlier this afternoon.

“I’m so sorry about that, I just..didn’t get a lot of sleep last night...You could’ve woken me up, you know...”

It wasn’t the fact that they were reminded of the sacrifice last night that made them pause.

No, it was the fact that that worthless scum caused their beloved to lose precious hours, minutes, and even seconds of sleep.

Almost every meaningful contribution Natalia Pierre gave life, served to make yours more difficult than it already was.

She should have been a sacrifice much, much sooner.

On the other hand, they should have thanked her, they supposed. For it was her demise that led you to sleep so silently, so soundly in their presence.

They had finally gotten the opportunity to see you at your most vulnerable, and they couldn’t get enough of it.

But they reined in their greed and held any dominating thoughts at bay. For patience was the art of the game.

Sooner or later, willingly or unwillingly, you would present yourself to them and their company.

And they would welcome you with open hearts and open arms.

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

~taglist~ 

@melaninkpops​ @loserwithapen​ @hellaspookystudent​ @ecillartto​ @omgsuperstarg​ @ace-angel-judas​ @jjamsbangtan​ @lovinggalaxies​ @lovesick-heart0​ @ksxmpoison​ @girlmeetsliv3​ @thedarkwinterrose​ @purpuravm​ @oneweirdbean​ @hopelessfountainjoonie​ @mazmaz30​ @enigmaticlove-03​ @uppiespuppy​ 

[the-slasher-files]

WHAT A KILLER

BO’S S/O REVEALING THEY ARE ALSO A SLASHER (Vincent is also kind of in this)

TW: blood, gore, killing, swearing (that’s inevitable with Bo)

THIS has been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS and idk why I'm so iffy on posting it but hopefully you guys in enjoy this! It's different from a lot of what I write and I do like it, it's just specific lol.. Also the s/o in this, was the bare bones of what Amaria (my oc) started as... hope you enjoy 🔪💕

MASTERLIST

Bloodcurdling screams could be heard through the normally silent town of Ambrose as dusk fell. Crimson painted the skies and the asphalt, almost mirroring each other in perfection. Crows calling for the wasted souls Bo obliterated and Vincent could not fix. 

Shuttering at the sounds heard you could not sit there on the old couch any longer, just playing with your fingers trying to push down the urges you felt deep down. They beckoned you like the crows did for flesh. You tried so hard to hide this side but it was only a matter of time you knew, the demon had to rear it’s head eventually if you really wanted to stay in Ambrose forever, and you did. You found the man of your twisted dreams here. 

Before you were held in Ambrose against your will; well in the beginning it was against your will but that quickly faded and you fell madly in love with your kidnapper and the town he held so close; you were a drifter. A wanderer of gypsy’s blood. Never managing to hold in one place for more than 6 months, the only time you had a home was when you were growing up, but having a disgusting home life you left at 16. Fleeing home and trying to run from your growing desires you instead made a treaty with your urges, running towards them, allowing them to show when you were safe and comfortable. 

Bo never knew, all these months as you played the part of his defenceless little housewife it was growing harder to tell him. Of course you wanted to tell him but you were scared of him not trusting you, and terrified of what he would do to you; pretty ironic when you considered doing the same things to him. 

Casually you would throw a joke out there about killing someone or dreaming of snapping someone's neck, however they weren’t jokes to you. It was your wicked reality. Bo was none the wiser, but Vincent, in his quiet embers saw something beyond your delicate eyes, something he saw within himself perhaps. He started to believe your jokes and comments, carefully watching you. Wondering if for once there was a different kind of evil in the town, or if he was becoming the hunted instead of the hunter. 

Climbing the stairs and reaching the bedroom you paused, pulling in a large breath and exhaling, closing your eyes. You sank to your knees against the hardwood, pulling a long black, locked plastic box from under the bed, methodically you played with the lock and swung the top open. Placing your eyes upon the weapon your body tensed but your soul relaxed, a sick war inside your head divided. 

Running your hands along the cold metal of the black blade, you felt home once again, blood could almost be felt on your hands and screams faded in your ears. Hunger grew. A deep pleasure surged through you. 

It was your 18 inch steel black machete; with ridges menacingly flaunting themselves across the top, like a dragon’s spine. The grip you had customized to fit your hand perfectly, needing it to act like an extension of you. It was adorned proudly with a thin rope of bright red fabric tied around the end of the handle, ripped from your first victim’s shirt, it’s tails would drift gracefully in the wind juxtaposing the damage the weapon could do.

Shaky hands picked up the weapon and it seamlessly melting into your grip, your eyes darkened as you rose from the floor, feeling your demons begin to yip and howl like a pack of starving wild dogs ready to feed. Giving yourself another deep breath in and out you kicked the box back under the bed and started down the stairs and out the front door with purpose.   

The hot sticky Louisiana air hit you, flowing in your hair and the tail of fabric on your machete. Screams begin to reach you in swells, coming closer flooding you like the rising tides as a younger woman was running towards you. Under the dim streetlights she could not see what you held, for the black blade melted into the shadows perfectly, as intended. To her you were hope, a way out of her hell, maybe you could help her. The poor thing could not have been more wrong in her panic-stricken judgements. 

You could smell her blood pouring from her injuries Bo inflicted and her desperate cries, it was all too much to you, it was just like blood in the water to a shark, your twisted instincts began to take over. Eyes darkened on the prey that was heedlessly bounding towards you and with one swipe, that was it. Blood was spilt. You had killed again and it felt so damn right. Looking down basking in the sight, she was slit ear to ear, the gash threatening to show the tips of the vertebrae at the back of her neck. The demons were lurching beside you pushing you forward for more. More blood. More affliction. 

Studying the surroundings, Bo was nowhere to be found, unusual for him to let his prey escape his hunt. It was quiet now as you walked on down the street, yellow fluorescents guided your path, and the homes were just barren shapes acting as blinders leading you onward for the man you dreaded seeing at this moment, the demons couldn’t care less about your emotions or feelings, they just carried your body to more gore. 

Rounding the corner, the gas station lights gave up a tangled mess on the ground. Two men were wrestling for some sort of weapon that glinted in the lights above them. Cursing yells, threats and grunts spilled out of both of them, one more than the other of course. Bo always had a mouth on him and no one could ever shut him up, it made you smirk as you approached, but suddenly there was a sharp yell and the stranger was on top of Bo. The man had his back to you and just had eyes for the greasy mechanic, beating him with the weapon you could now see was a wrench. You could feel a burning anger rise from your core and Bo’s howls were just fuel to the fire.   

Steadily making your way up to the two wrecks of people, now standing behind the stranger you forced your long rigid blade through the core of the man, impaling him right under the sternum. Loud clanging of metal rang through the street as the man dropped the wrench as his body went limp, heaving over the weapon within him. With your boot you carefully directed the corpse off your machete and on the asphalt next to Bo, leaving your face sprayed with red from the spine of the blade. 

Your eyes met with saucer wide baby blues causing you to let out a silent breathy laugh licking your lips of blood, sickly savouring the unusual copper. Bo laid on the ground a moment longer just taking in for sure what he saw from his precious angel. Just as you were about to speak but Bo beat you to it.

“I FUCKIN’ KNEW IT!” he gloated hysterically, leaving you more than a little shocked. “I KNEW IT!” Bo got to his feet and almost looked like he was going to do a little dance, you just stood there in the streetlight beginning to laugh, relived but worried as if he had hit his head or something. It was never a dull moment with Bo that’s for sure. 

“Are you ok? like seriously, your beginning to scare me” you puzzled as he sauntered his way up to you cocky as ever. 

“I’m fuckin’ fantastic... I knew there was something in you” he held you against his chest and put his head on yours “something awful behind those beautiful eyes, my little angel of death” you laughed against him as he kissed your crown, then pulled away looking you dead in the eyes. “Why did you think I kept you around all these months? you made me wait a while... and you know how much I hate waitin” 

The words burned in your skull, was that really the only reason? Bo was still unpredictable to you in ways, especially with his dark side. Maybe he was just going to kill you now, maybe he didn’t love you, it could’ve just been the wicked charm he carried effortlessly. 

Something came alive in his blue eyes, scaring you slightly but trying to play it off when you cupped his strong jaw, breathing slowly. 

“People are my specialty baby” he drawled, then pulled you roughly into a kiss. Sweat, oil, cigarettes, and blood coated the kiss leaving you breathless as he often did. 

Bo was right, people were his perfected craft; charming, seducing, lying, playing up the sob story about him and Vincent being in foster care after both parents died. Hell, he could speak French Cajun so he could be more versatile, and charm his way out of any situation in any part of Louisiana. Bo always knew everything you were feeling even before you said it, now that you think back on it. 

“Bo? you still love me?” you hesitating in your question not sure if you wanted the answer. 

This caught his attention as his jaw tensed and eyes hardened “What would make you think I don’t?... sure I would’ve liked to know earlier, sure, but this just makes you better,” he looked you up and down like a predator before coming close to your ear and purring “and hotter.” You yelped as you were suddenly tossed over his shoulder and carried down to the basement of the garage.     

Fidgeting with the lock for a moment he swung the door open and placed you in his chair. “Oh, Sinclair there is a special place in hell for us, and I will meet you there” you laughed as Bo climbed on top of you, clashing his lips against yours, hungry and lustful.